O! M! G!

So, I was on Twitter this morning, and I suddenly had this FEAR that I had missed my blogging anniversary.  I knew I had started in mid-February last year, and I thought it was around the 12th.

Well, it was.  AROUND the 12th.  Fortunately, it was the 15th. [Here is my opening post... ]

So today, then, is the last day of the first year of my blog.  The first of perhaps MANY years, I can hope...

But WOW! What an amazing first year!  What an incredible, incredible first year! 

I don't even know where to begin in my recap...

But one of the reasons for this blog was because I'm real cheap, and this was free therapy. So thanks, guys! ;)

No, but seriously, at the time I started this blog, I was deep in grief over two lost relationships, and I was feeling incredibly lonely in a small town where I was trying to dig roots, in a job that ultimately I felt both overwhelmed and bored with.  I had lost my best friend, and was feeling a deep need to find someone to tell all the random thoughts and silly things (and perhaps profound?) that were screaming through my head.

So, I thought the whole world was a suitable audience to share everything with...

But I had no readers except my good friend Robin Sparkles (thank you, Robin!) and apparently I wasn't the type who liked to talk just to hear my own voice.  Apparently, I'm so selfish and self-centered I actually want OTHERS to hear me too....

And I had decided to give it a whirl because I enjoyed hearing The Bloggess' voice and thought I can do that!  So after twenty-five blog posts, and hoping that meant I was going to stick with this, I called her out. At the time, on her blog, there was an incident that she has asked us to no longer name with an actor whose first memorable role was as the second Joey in One Life To Live, and I encouraged her to share a picture with me as she might have wanted one who shall not be named to send a picture to her of him. 

So, to get her attention, I did an evil thing.  Something that from high above in my lofty cloud I thought was much too far beneath me.  Something I never thought I would do.

That's right.  I joined Twitter.

WOW! 

And The Bloggess - bless her heart - was my VERY FIRST FOLLOWER!!!

At some point along the way, I found Kit.  And I believe I found her through Jenny.  And I found her posts - particularly her posts about sex - to be really funny and amusing.  I liked her voice too.  And I'd like to say she was my second follower.. but I'm not sure... Either way, with #wineparty, she opened up a whole new world to me.

A world of 30-40-something Mommy bloggers.  (Primarily)

You guys are great.  Considering I am most definitely NOT a Mommy... 

And I have a Sci-Fi name that should turn you off. And it took some of you awhile to realize I wasn't a guy hitting on and flirting with women, but, um, a dyke.  But you enjoyed it and flirted back.

And one particular chickie - who played a little hard to get at first - flirted back and foolishly fell in love with me.  ;)

WOW!

And slowly, but surely, I've built up a following.  I have a steady readership of about 20 readers... ;)  and I have had over twelve thousand hits.  I have a strong Balkan following.

The CANADIANS have been quite impressive fans.  They are so polite.  They'll apologize when YOU fart.  I love the Canadians... And so... today is as good a day as any to make the official announcement that, well, I'm moving to Canada.

'Cuz, as I've already mentioned, there's this particular chickie.. and well.. she's a CANADIAN chick.. go figure... We're not entirely sure she likes me and that she isn't just being polite to me, "Oh sure..." but we're gonna run with it anyway.  ;)

(Actually, no, we're QUITE sure she likes me, very much... and if I left that sentence alone, particularly after her sweet Valentine's eve series of love notes, I'd be in trouble... and that's no way to start a life together... )

Goodbye small town.  Goodbye single.  Goodbye soccer coach.  Goodbye America.  Goodbye job.  Goodbye church...

Woah.. what's going to be left of me when I go?

All the essential parts of me will still be here. 

I have enjoyed very much living in a small town, but I didn't particularly choose this place.  They have been good to me.  Very good to me! I have really enjoyed coaching soccer, but I have no inherent skills or even love for the sport.  I enjoyed the girls - they were great!  Can't say I enjoyed being single, but I can say that I got out of it what I needed, and I have most definitely let go of my past relationships and am ready for this new one I'm already in (so it's, um, a good thing, eh?)  America? Well... you're hard to ignore.  And I'll be living in a border town (okay, border megaopolis), so I have a feeling I won't miss you too much.  Job? Pfft... well... it has always been a gap-filler.  And it and the church, and the soccer have all sort of helped me get a firmer understanding of what I enjoy doing, and in a larger city, I will have a better opportunity to find something that fits those things. 

What a year!  I mean, really, what a year!  One thing which has NOT changed, though, over this past year.  And that is being and knowing that I am very, very blessed. 

Who knows what themes will emerge with this blog in the next year?  Change will probably be one of them.  I'm going to try and stuff my life into five duffel bags and stuff them and my bike into my car and start over.  I've always always always wanted to have such little stuff in my life that I could stuff it all in a car and go.  I have a couple of weeks to pare things down to see if I can do it.  If I manage it, that's another WOW!  I am looking forward to trying.

Alright - a few other topics are creeping into my head to write about, but it is clear to me that they are separate posts. 

But I wanted to say WOW! and THANK YOU! for an INCREDIBLE year.  INCREDIBLE! 

Who knew when I started this that this is where it would lead?  But I am so grateful it has! 

I am blessed. 

To The Hostess with the Mostest

A true bonafide text conversation last night:

Her:  You going to #wineparty?

Me:  No.

Me: You?

Her:  Nope

Me:  Didn't think so...

Her:  I found my soul at that party.

Her:  That was its purpose.

Me:  Yep.  Me, too!

Her:  I almost wanna tell Kit

It's been awhile since I've been on #wineparty.  But I must take a moment to thank our hostess for introducing me to a wonderful woman, with whom I have fallen deeply in love, and she with me.  Consider this our #wineparty confession...

Miss me?

See? I wasn't gone so long...

So, one of the things I'm struggling with is how to tell people in real life. 

Mostly, at the end of the day, I'm not worried about it. 

But here's some of the deal.  Most of the people in real life don't know that I'm on Twitter.  They certainly don't know that I have a blog (that whole Jenga-thing).  And my last relationship that they knew about - the ten year marriage - kinda ended badly. 

I have begun to tell a few people, so I have an early taste of the questions that will be raised. 

Oh, you met her online, was it on a dating site?  Um, no.  Fortunately, that was an individual whom I had told about my blog.  Unfortunately it was at lunch with someone else that I *hadn't* yet told about my blog...

Then there's the question of the distance.  What were the odds that I would meet someone even semi-local?  Particularly when I was trying to hide who I am and where I live?  Slim-to-none. She is NOT local.  She is at a distance.  So.... where do you see this going?  Are you moving? Is she coming here?  (Or from those who would also be out of town, is she coming *there*?)

And at some level, those questions are premature.  Not that they haven't been discussed between us, and not that we don't have our own thoughts about it.  But then to share those with others when it's still so new, well... it's premature.  And for some reason, I don't think the old joke about what a lesbian brings on the second date would be found too funny by others - although I think it's hysterical.  (The answer? A U-Haul).

Many of the people that matter aren't here, locally.  So it isn't something that can just be brought up in casual conversation.  And for the people who are here, there is an understandable fear (which is sweet) that I might leave.  Because I might. 

It takes people in a small town awhile to let new people - strangers - in.  There isn't a huge transitional population here, like in some places such as San Francisco.  And yes, there is a fear of letting them in, because they don't have the attachments, and they might leave.  (Kinda the dog chasing it's tail kinda conundrum)  (The word of the day, by the way, is Conundrum). 

So now they've let me in.  I didn't leave when my best friend who invited me here in the first place left two years ago.  They've even asked me to lead them.  And I'm gonna tell them that I might leave?  Yeah, that's nice, Borg.  Real nice. 

Long distance relationships have evolved significantly thanks to technology than they were when I was last in one.  With texting, it is possible to be at a moment's reach away to share something.  Love letters don't take weeks to arrive when they're sent by e-mail.  (Apparently, they DO still take weeks when they are sent by snail-mail..).  Long distance is no longer as expensive, if not free.  Video chats.  There are many more ways to become and remain connected than there were when I was in love with my first love and we were long distance. 

Unfortunately, while they have developed the "communicator" from the original Star Trek, they still need to develop the transporter.

I am happy and want to share my happiness.  But I understand others' fears and their questions.  And I'm not ready for them to indirectly question my happiness.  Or, frankly, question my judgment.  Yeah... my last one didn't end up so well.  Do I owe them some sort of reassurance / promise that this one will go differently?  How can I know?  Psychic powers failing...

If I were dating someone local, people wouldn't have so many questions and wouldn't get so far ahead of themselves.  Meeting someone online raises questions, too - I understand that.  But then, someone from a distance?  Raises a whole lot of other questions.  I do understand that - I do.  But so many of them take away from THIS moment right now which is where I want to be, and where I SHOULD be. 

Do we know where this is going? No, not exactly.  Can I just enjoy the moment, here and now? And take the future as it comes?  And leave the planning between us for now?

Yes.  And when it is time to share, I will find a firm way to politely make that clear.  Those are great questions, and while I have some thoughts on the answers - *we* have some thoughts on the answers, I don't have them yet.  Let's just see how this unfolds, and be happy for me at this moment.  As I am happy, myself.  No-one knows what the future holds, and if she had been here and in person, that wouldn't change my ability to know what the future holds.  So rather than waste today worrying about tomorrow, let's just live in today. 

Because today is pretty damn wonderful.  And THAT is simply what I wanted to share...

Looking out the bars...

So, I am in Twitter jail.  Again!

This time, though, I can see out the bars and watch the people talking about me.  And I can send messages to friends, er, followers, but I can't send direct messages to those who don't....

It's a whole new level of TwitterJail.  Just watching helplessly, trying to mount your defense, but being kept from those witnesses you think can help.

Okay, maybe it's not quite like that.

Tonight I used Tweetdeck for the first time for #wineparty.  Back in early June I was given the suggesting of Tweetdeck and Hootsuite as alternatives to using my iPhone for #wineparty.  I opened up Hootsuite first, and while I also opened up Tweetdeck at the time, to my untrained and unexperienced eye, they looked the same. 

And both, frankly, took my breath away, and I spent WAY too much time customizing and figuring it out.  I stuck with Hootsuite because I couldn't appreciate the differences not knowing what I was doing.

But while I could now SEE #wineparty in a separate column on Hootsuite - and still watch my mentions - (different than my unmentionables!), I could never expand a conversation.  That's driven me nuts all summer - because I felt like I was just catching snippets of conversation over the din, and had a hard time diving into the conversations.

Tweetdeck is fantastic! Tweetdeck gives you "streams" like in Hootsuite, so you can watch multiple lines of chatter, er, tweeting, but you can actually expand and see the whole conversation not just the final tweet for #wineparty (you could do it in other streams on Hootsuite, just not hashtag streams, it seems).

Oh, I'm in love. 

And, um, in jail.

Oops!

A Plan?

A friend of mine asked me yesterday if I had a "plan" set for what I am going to do with myself after the contract ends.  A plan? I facetiously asked...? What? Doesn't she read this blog religiously?  I'm going to make sure my sink is clean before I go to bed at night.  Other than that, what kind of plan do I need?

Later, by Twitter, I mentioned how I felt like I was sitting around waiting for something great to happen.  And she chimed in how I shouldn't wait, I needed to out there and make it happen.  To which I gave a harvesting analogy and insisted I had planted seeds.  She believed me.

And I have... Don't get me wrong.

But she is poking at the bear issues I have concerns about myself.  Gently - or perhaps not so gently - making sure I won't devolve into a glob of blubber when the contract ends.  I think she's afraid I will sit at home all day in my bed watching re-runs of Love Boat that I recently discovered on You Tube (that song is IMPOSSIBLE to get out of your head, so I don't recommend it... But, oh, that Doc, he is so funny (NOT!)).  And her fears aren't entirely unjustified.  Although I'll probably also catch up on some of the bloggers I'm friends with on Twitter and now here.  And maybe find creative ways to enhance and improve my blog.  And maybe I'll start a doll head collection.  Okay, NOT to the last one.

And I won't be starting a Vision Board or likely a Pinterest account either, although I'm a little wary to say the last one because that pretty much is what I said about Twitter all this time, and we see what happened THERE!

But she's right.  I know she's right.  (Is there a way to block one single person from reading a single post?  I mean I don't need her to spend the rest of today, this week, lording it over me that I said that she was right, do I? No... I mean, she'd favorite the shit out of this post, and return to it every day just to see that I said she was right... Wait... that might help my statistics, though.... If you found this post from the right hand side, well.... you'll know that I already regret it! Kidding!)

I do need a plan to make sure I don't just burrow deeply into my bed and never emerge except for soccer and to get the church bulletin done.  Particularly because there's only another month to soccer, so that won't last too long. 

Do I have one? No.  Not entirely.  Not much at all.  Except a recognition that I want there to be some structure to my days.  Something in particular I accomplish each day.  Incremental work on other things.  I don't want to simply burrow into my bed (although it is nice and comfortable) and get lost.  That's the start of a plan, right?

In the meantime, though, it's early-ish in the morning and I need to hit the shower and get this project done first.  Right now, THAT's my plan.  Once that's done, I can concentrate on the other.  For now, that's my plan.  Okay?  Okay.

Twitter is rarely boring...

... but if you've found my blog, you probably already know that.

Now, admittedly, some of the more, um, graphic pictures suit certain tastes.  And some of those can be amusing, too.  Some of those can cause you to hurl.. so be careful.

But that's not really where I was going.

No, in fact, I was going to Sam's Club to pick up reinforcements for the soccer concessions stand. 

And I took all of my Tweeps with me. 

God bless 'em.

They advised me AGAINST the 850 gumballs.  Towards baking supplies with which I have no idea what I would do.  They taste-tested Pumpkin Fudge with me.  Encouraged me to indeed get some good basic spoil-proof staples (including snacks!!) for burrowing in for the winter. 

Generally made me laugh while I wandered aimlessly through the club store by myself. 

Which was appreciated.  Except for concessions, I really haven't had much need as a single gal without two dogs and two cats and a house with plenty of room to store 620 rolls of toilet paper to go to warehouse club stores.  Before, when I had all of those things and a spouse to go with, we used to play "Price is Right" at the checkout to see who could get closest to the total without going over.  Before, I had someone to bounce off whether it really did make sense to get the 200 ounce bottle of something we used once every six months.  Not that she didn't egg me on a little.  But warehouse club stores are much more fun when you have someone with whom to share them, and the things you purchase.

So thank you, Tweeps.  For $60, I purchased many more meals to have in reserve as needed than I ever could at the grocery store.  I will not starve this winter. Maybe by spring, but not over the winter... ;)

(No nuts, though.. dykes don't like nuts.  That's why we're dykes.... Okay.. so that's not true, but it's fun to say!)

Inane Blog Posts

Every once in awhile I happen to be one of the earliest responders to one of Jenny's blog entries.  This always results in a flood of traffic for people to check out what was my latest blog post. 

Unfortunately, typically, my latest blog post isn't always that exciting.  For example, my Twitter Jail Again post was short and sweet and basically a way to get the message out to folks at #wineparty last week that I was out of commission.  Like that girl who steps outside to vomit after drinking too much and you wonder where she went.  Well, sorta like that.  I've only gotten drunk enough to throw up once.  And that, after all, was in college, and not entirely my fault. 

I would be curious to hear how readers would describe my blog if they were mentioning it to a friend.  I think it is a combination of some heartfelt life lessons and experience and with quite a bit of humorous enjoyment of life as well.  There are, for example, shower posts - those posts that come to me in the shower and might be so silly as to explain how it is that I can determine whether or not I've shampooed (strawberry scented shampoo, btw).  There's the Sticks & Stones series that has actually stuck with me quite a bit, and I've returned to at various times when I'm upset. 

And then there's the #wineparty posts.

I am certain that many of my blogsphere / Twitter friends tune into my blog on Saturday mornings to find out the latest hijinks from #wineparty.  (Because I like to think *I'm* just THAT special!)  I mean "amish big boob sex "was one of the searches that tracked down my blog this week, and so the #wineparty hijinks draw lots of folks. 

The truth is that my two top sources of readers can all usually trace back to either Jenny or Kit.  Two wonderfully wonderfully impressive and enjoyable bloggers.  (And frankly, I think I found Kit through Jenny, soo... it all traces back to The Bloggess).

But really, I owe a debt of tremendous gratitude to Kit for the success of my blog, and for the amusing success of my #wineparty posts. 

Because #wineparty is her creation.  I just sacrificed myself and re-read the beginning of her blog to find her first post about #wineparty and confirmed it was also her first post about Twitter Jail (technically: The Sex is Good in Jail).  You're welcome.

If you read the post (which I highly recommend you do) she suggests it as a much more effective alternative to #FF (Follow Friday) - which I admit I suck at!  Good thing is I'm pretty good at #wineparty.  It's easy - get enough drunk people in one place and I seem pretty funny.  Check out the most recent comment to Seven Children by Eleven Daddies from earlier this morning for further proof.  ;)

Unfortunatley, I was exhausted last night and tried to sack out before #wineparty started - so no amusing stories today.  Of course I couldn't sleep, and briefly made an appearance afraid I was going to fall asleep at any moment, and, um, didn't.  One of my IRL friends even texted me at one point, but wanted to make sure she wasn't interrupting #wineparty.  I'm sure she's one of those regular Saturday morning viewers living her life vicariously through my Twitter experiences (NOT!). 

Anyway... in the shower this morning, I was thinking about how the most inane posts are the most "recent" whenever I comment to Jenny... and I was thinking about how you folks might be looking for your vicarious #wineparty fix (don't be lurkers, join the fun), and I was thinking about how it'd been a week and I'd written nothing.  At least nothing published here. 

And that, my friends, is what lead to this rambling post.  You're welcome.  Enjoy!

Twitter Jail. Again.

I guess I was too much the social butterfly on Twitter tonight.. I am "forbidden" to Tweet.  Forbidden?  Really? I can't remember the last time I was "forbidden"... ;)

Ah well..

-------------

UPDATED: (getting a lot of traffic to this post from The Bloggess)

To read more about WHY I was in Twitter Jail, check out my previous #wineparty post Seven Children by Eleven Daddies

Also check out my post Welcome Lawsbians to learn a little about my tenuous connection to Jenny! ;)

Today's Dalai Lama Post

The following seems quite fitting in light of my last two blog posts.  It was in my morning Facebook News feed (*gasp* she still looks at Facebook even though she's now in love with Twitter... ? It's like she's cheating....)

In particular, discussing my post on Practicing Patience recently with a friend, I like the acknowledgment that we sometimes create our own problems, too.  Frankly, I think that is hard for many of us to recognize that the problems we have are ones we created, and perhaps, things might be just a wee bit easier for ourselves if we would stop creating so many for ourselves! ;)

Yeah, that was a long run-on sentence.  Hope the grammar police don't come back.  ;)

A rose named Borg...

Original Title (so you can understand the original theme I was writing from): 
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga

I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name".  When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"

There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name.  My full real name.  One other person knows my first name.  That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)

And that is not an easy decision.  And by next week, that circle may increase. 

The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"

Um, yes you can?  And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"

If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name.  In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account.  (Dratted iPhone and human error). 

This is not easy for me.  I do not like living in closets.  I do not like hiding who I am.  I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am.  I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).

I have written several blog entries already about anonymity.  I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right.  This is something I've struggled with.  And still struggle with.

At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever.  But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga.  The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure.  Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do!  But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.

Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life.  People I've loved dearly.  People I still love dearly.  While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not.  And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was.  And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her.  (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)

And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you.  Or someone you know just down the street.  Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story.  And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of.  That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....).  That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.

But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate.  Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done.  Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting.  EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me.  Simply because I asked for it.  And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life. 

It was a real WOW moment.  A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?

And this is the moment where I change the title of this post.  I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going.  But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________.  And that's pretty darn special.  And I'm pretty darn lucky!!

Have patience with me, then, my friends.  Because so many of you have become my friends.  This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too.  I know that you can respect me on this.  I've seen how you support me, despite my name.  And I appreciate you all. 

-----

If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):

I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.

There I wrote:

 Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal.

... 

When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective. There is no unique "I" in Borg. There is just Borg.

So while you think you may know me, you probably don't. Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know. But you do not know my identity.

Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...).  And what would I do at that point?  Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group.  I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)

The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own.  I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived.  Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous.  This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me.  I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me. 

I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship.  There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am.  For some of them, I wish I could change that.  For some, eventually over time, I will.  But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear.  Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends.  While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience.  As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen.  I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective. 

(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )

I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about.  The world didn't fall apart when I told her.  Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about.  And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook.  And she hasn't disowned me as a friend.  Again, an early Jenga piece.

And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately).  It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called.  It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows. 

--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)

I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy.  It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down.  It won't.  But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up. 

Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes".  But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can.  Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there.  And I don't want to censor or edit myself. 

As I said, I don't like hiding.  All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.

Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)

For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you.  And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too.  I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)

And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does. 

The Polite Conundrum Dance

Or, alternate title: Dyke in a Small Town Revisited

I've spent a lot of time in larger metropolitan areas where finding the gay community was easy - or at least certainly much easier than I've been able to find here.  So there was at least a place where you knew folks would pool who were also like you.  Dupont Circle, the entire city of San Francisco, West Hollywood... You get the idea!  So if you were interested in finding a date, at a minimum, you had at least one place you could go.

No such luck here. Trust me.

But in real life you never know who you're going to run into and whether they might be your soul mate or future life partner, or even a lovely fling.  In real life you should leave yourself open to possibilities because you never know who might come along.

Here's the problem.  If I hit on you in West Hollywood, and you're straight, you shouldn't be so surprised.  If you're in my "hood" (so to speak) you should be comfortable enough that someone might think you're not just a tourist.  Okay, that's not the problem... The problem is how we identify each other outside of the "hood".

When I came out in college, I kinda did it in a big way, almost without thinking, my first year by sitting at a "Coming Out Day" table (Coming Out Day is October 11th - so you can get an idea of how relatively early in the year it was).  People I had gotten to know in that first month and a half reacted in a variety of ways.  One woman (who admittedly later had a torrid lesbian affair her senior year) came up to me and gave me a big hug without even realizing or caring what I was doing.  But others weren't so friendly.  I had several straight female friends who suddenly became afraid I was going to hit on them and began to keep their distance.

Now this is problematic in two ways.  First, so what if I did? Were they not capable of politely turning me down and being appropriately complimented that I might be interested?  Apparently not.  And the second, which is often a reaction that is part of this polite conundrum dance, is the idea that they were so "arrogant" as to think I would. 

And there we have the two steps of the Polite Conundrum Dance.  It's quite a simple dance, really. 

Two women are talking and one is already out and known as a dyke.  The other's sexual orientation is unknown.

If the dyke takes a chance and hits on her, if the other woman is straight, she may run away (and yes, even if she's also gay, she could run away...).  So, one step backwards. 

If the other person early on quickly clarifies - before the dyke takes a chance and hits on her - "I'm straight" she risks offending the dyke that she's so arrogant and that she's so scared that the dyke is going to hit on her.  This may or may NOT be what the straight person is trying to indicate, mind you.  That's not relevant in the Polite Conundrum Dance.  What's relevant is what MIGHT POSSIBLY INCONCEIVABLY be nonetheless conceived, and not wanting to ruin or risk a new burgeoning friendship.

Now, for you straight people, one word of advice I have for you.  Early on in the conversation, please feel free to drop in handily something about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend.  That is a nice subtle way (if it doesn't seem too contrived) to clue us in that you are not available to us (although, for the record, I've discovered it does NOT necessarily mean that you might not still be interested, but that's a whole other world and a whole other post... See, for example, Married Women Like Breasts..!).  Yes, unfortunately, stating outright early on, "I'm straight, by the way" won't typically go over well - even though in some ways it would be much appreciated - there are more subtle ways, nonetheless, to let the other person know.

Now, a little bit of wisdom about me, in particular.  This may or may not apply to others like me - I can only speak to me.  I am a shameless flirt.  I love to flirt.  It may or may not mean I am interested in something more, but sometimes, I'll admit, in whether I'm interested in something more may depend upon your response to me.  However, given that I flirt with men, women, and dogs, alike, it may mean nothing at all as to whether I am interested in being more than friends.  You should not be worried, upset, offended, or horrified if I flirt with you.  Flirting is fun.  If you enjoy it, then flirt back.  If you don't, don't.  Simple.  And those rules, I think, generally apply to just about anyone - if you enjoy someone's flirtation, flirt back, and if you don't, then don't. 

If you may be interested in something more with me, I'm dense.  I'm dumb.  You'll probably need to be explicit or spell it out.  Or just really, really flirt a lot, and either way, I'll have lots of fun with you.  ;) (I've discovered, apparently, sending me pictures is an effective way of letting me know... although I'm not necessarily a "visual" person....and wouldn't necessarily expect or want them, I can still appreciate the statement, apparently!)

But I have a lot of conversations with new people whose company I enjoy where I find myself engaged in The Polite Conundrum Dance.  They already know I'm a dyke.  Is that why they're interested in getting to know me better? Is that what they're interested in?  If their twitter handle has the words "lesbian" or "dyke" already in them, those I got a clue who I'm dealing with.  "Mama" however in your twitter handle does NOT exclude you from the possibility of playing on my team.  And surprisingly I've run into very few people who have "straight" or "STR8" in their handle.  The only Twitter handle I've found where it's been BEYOND clear that they weren't interested in a romantic relationship with me simply from their handle was "GODH8SFAGS" (although technically, when they wrote me, they did tell me that THEY loved me... so I'm so confused... ;) )

So if you're a new friend, please feel free to drop the gender, subtly in conversation, of your last significant other in order to clue me in... and if I flirt with you, don't be offended.. ;)

Now, check out my next post where I teach everyone how to do the Waltz.  (1-2-3, 1-2-3...)

Punching Bags, Over-Reactions and Bringing an Army

I woke up this morning earlier than I wanted and not quite yet ready to hit the day.  With less than minimal sleep, I checked my email and found that someone had left me a comment on one of my entries. 

I, then, proceeded to over-react.  Because that is much more fun, don't you think? Me, too!

And while I generally don't recommend over-reactions, I managed, nonetheless, to at least focus that over-reaction in a positive manner.  In hindsight, I am quite surprised and pleased with myself on that.

In the past (yes! in the past, damnit!) I have made a wonderful punching bag.  I am so empathetic to your pain, that I allow that pain to be an excuse to behave badly towards me.  I excuse your behavior and then have stood still while you took your shots. 

I have a VERY good long history of making excuses for others' bad behavior.  And this is no question one of my underlying repeated issues.  One that I haven't quite yet resolved because I have been doing it as long as I can remember.  I don't really know how not to do it.  It's been a role I've played often and with many people in my life.  It is a role I have unfortunately allowed myself to be in often and with many people in my life.

Now, for the most part, I have been fairly good about not taking the poor behavior personally.  In fact that is kind of a requirement to be successful in this skill.  Because if you take it personally, you'd actually be smart enough, ideally, to not take the behavior at all. 

Hmm...

It doesn't mean that the behavior hasn't been hurtful.  It doesn't mean that the overall accumulated message isn't internalized - you are not important enough for me to treat you appropriately.  It has been.  Don't worry.  I got the message.  Over and over and over, again.

Now, one element of this broader skill of making excuses for poor behavior, then, is allowing others to use you as a punching bag to vent their own anger and frustration.  Again, often you know not to take it personally, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't get internalized. 

I still have a long way to go in letting go of making excuses for others, but I have, at least, learned (for the most part) to stop being someone else's punching bag.  At least I can distinguish that part of it. 

Except until today, I wasn't able, necessarily, to articulate it so well. 

So, at an early hour in the morning, not as properly rested as I wanted to be, and taking the comment in concert with another earlier comment, I felt attacked.  Whether real or imagined, I probably still can't say with accuracy.

But I was feeling vulnerable. 

I wrote what I think was an articulate and even compassionate response to this person who clearly has experienced their own pain.  But I clarified that the description this person had given in response to my post was not accurate as applied to me. 

And then, as this person cowardly came to the "fight" armed only with bad spelling as his or her only tool, I decided it was appropriate to bring an army.   I totally over-reacted.  I know I over-reacted.

And after I summoned my army, I wrote my post about needing to have Thicker Skin and then finally headed off to start my day.

But I have taken some serious time today thinking - a la Sticks & Stones - as to why I reacted so strongly to someone who cannot clearly articulate his or her position which seems to have little to no relevance to what I actually posted.  Many friends kindly and privately asked me why I was reacting so strongly, and made clear that I did not need to waste my energy giving it to such a person.  And they were all correct, and I knew it even before I summoned them. 

But I wasn't feeling so strong today, and so I over-reacted and called an army.  And in doing so I confirmed something I already knew, I am not alone.  I am part of a community.  And even though my friends standing on the sideline thought I looked strong and had this weak person licked and that I didn't seem to need any help, they still responded to my call. 

I have been a punching bag.  I will no longer be a punching bag.  And when I am not strong enough to fight back on my own, I will call my army.  And they will make sure you know that I am not a punching bag.  I may seem weak.  And I may be weak, at times, but with my community I will stand strong. 

Even if I have to over-react to do so... ;)

Thank you so much to all the folks who provided me support publicly and privately, even despite my irrational over-reaction.  You are awesome! 

Twitter Jail

This is what it looks like:

Ooops!

Ollie's Barbecue or Choice

Now when I started thinking about the topic of “choice” this morning, my head was in a different space about a different topic.  And at some point, I really want to get back to my original thoughts and write a post about that.  (And yes, this is one of my infamous shower posts...)

For those of you who might not make it to the end, I'll give you a spoiler alert - our true choice in this and many matters is to choose to respect each other.  Seems like an easy choice to make. 

I tend not to be too political, and I’ve already promised you that you won’t find many political posts on here except that as they may apply to the “human condition”.  (Nice broad vague catch-all, since all politics, at some level, apply to the human condition, or could be interpreted as such).  If you look, though, over there at that my 'tags' you'll see that "politics" is quite small.  But my intent, shall we say, is to bring “political” issues in NOT because they are political hot-button issues, but because the issue has something valuable to observe.  I have written early on, although many of you have yet to read this post (since the stats show only one view as of this posting), that I am neither politically correct nor politically incorrect.  I'm bound to offend someone!  You may want to begin reading that post before you dive into this one (and, no, I'm not just shamefully trying to up my stats - that's just an added bonus! ;) )

Now, if I had titled this just “Choice” as I originally thought to, and once you realized this might be political, your first thought might be that this would be a post about abortion.  And believe me, while not my originating thoughts, it is one area where my thoughts wandered this morning in the shower about what to write and how to compose this message.

And so I’ll spend a moment – a few paragraphs – clarifying my stance on the issue of abortion, and then we can move on.  I am a pro-life pro-choicer.  I believe that woman should be able to make a choice about their own bodies, but I hope that they choose to bring the life into this world.  Although this world *is* heavily over-populated.  What I would like, though, is for there to be more choices for someone who chooses to carry to term.  I’d like there to be less stigma attached to giving up one’s baby given that there are so many wonderful people out there who would like to be parents and who are looking to adopt.  I’d like there to be more options in finding support for raising a baby they choose to raise.  I’d like the anti-abortionists, then, to really reflect on the serenity prayer and put their energy and their money towards creating positive solutions and positive choices.  While we would love every pregnancy to be wanted and the news to be received with joy, this will never happen.  Even many parents who choose to have their children, sadly, don’t necessarily look with joy upon their new arrival.  (That’s a whole other sad scenario). 

Accept the things we cannot change.  It doesn’t mean we can’t take serious preventative measures to lessen the number of those pregnancies (something, by the way, Planned Parenthood works towards), but it also means we need to accept the reality of unplanned and unwanted pregnancies (by the way, in case you were wondering, that’s what the “planned” part of Planned Parenthood refers to…).

Change the things we can.  We can’t changed unplanned, unwanted pregnancies.  And given that abortion has been around since the dawn of time, in one form or another, the reality is that we can’t change whether abortion happens,  although clearly we can make it more difficult, and we can limit them.  What we can change is the following three things: 1) provide education on how to prevent unwanted pregnancies and the means by which to do so, 2) provide options for women who do become pregnant to have an effective choice, and ideally a clear choice, to carry the baby to term – to know that doing so won’t affect the rest of her life, that she won’t be a pariah in society for having become an unwed mother, if that’s the circumstance, and that there will be resources out there, for example, if she is still young and in school, to finish school and be able to have a job or a career to support her and her child should she choose that, or to find a loving and caring family who would lovingly take her child into their home as their own.  3) if, nonetheless, a woman still chooses to have an abortion, make it a safe, healthy choice for her so that we don’t lose two lives in the process. 

And frankly, if you look at what Planned Parenthood does, I think it tries to do all three of those things.  And someone who supports Planned Parenthood (as an aside) is not necessarily pro-abortion.  In fact, they are likely not pro-abortion at all, but pro-healthy-woman and healthy families.  Lord knows we have a growing mental health community due to unwanted children being brought into this world and being neglected, abused, and essentially thrown away.  These are real issues that we need to face and deal with as a society.  But that’s another rant.

But abortion was NOT the topic on my mind at all.  But it was raised last night as part of a discussion regarding Chick-Fil-A.   The issue was raised because some people are trying to make the issue black and white.  And some people are trying to lump other people into neat little boxes.  Some people are trying to focus on the right of Cathy to speak and in the process gracefully ignoring what it was that he said. 

Frankly, and I may not when popularity points here, I don’t think what Cathy said was that “offensive”.  I have heard much worse.  He was expressing his views and his opinions, and not only is he entitled to have them, not only are they shared by a lot of people in the country, he is also entitled to express them, and to express them not only with his voice but with his dollars.  I find it sad that he is unable to see or understand that God made me the way that I am, and that I believe God blessed my union, and that, frankly, if the government is going to confer benefits on two people who choose to share their lives together in the form of a family, I should be able to partake in those benefits, too.  As well as the responsibilities.  (The California domestic partnership law is called the "Domestic Partners Rights and Responsibilities Act").

But some people, and understandably so, find his speech to be hate-speech.  I'll be honest, I'm not sure that it rises to that level, but I can understand in this day and age where others who are fighting so hard for equality, and who have determined that their equality will best be won through legalized marriage, how that those words can be hateful.  Essentially, Cathy is declaring that anyone whose lifelong partner is the same sex is a second-class citizen.

Notice, we don't hear a lot of people who have been divorced speaking up or taking note of Cathy's statements about being still married to their first wives.  They are cleverly and wisely hiding behind the gays' outrage at his statements and hoping no-one will notice that they are not amongst the people that Cathy supports either. 

Westboro Baptist Church, as I reminded some folks in last night's conversation, also claim Freedom of Speech when they picket military funerals.  People find it easier - because they aren't simply targeting gay funerals - to find the Westboro Baptist Church's speech as offensive and hateful.  They are actually clearly targeting America (go to their website, this isn't MY conclusion, this is their own declaration!) I guess it might depend on who the speech is used against as to whether or not we might more easily recognize the "hate" involved.

In 1967, the Supreme Court made a fairly radical decision at the time.  It decided that a ban against a man and a woman who loved each other who had actually been legally married was an unconstitutional action on the part of the Commonwealth of Virginia.   Two people had gotten married in the District of Columbia, and then returned home to Virginia.  Two policemen raided their home at night, hoping to catch them in marital relations, but only found them sleeping together.  When the couple pointed to their marriage certificate on the wall, the police found that as evidence to criminally charge them. 

Picture this.  You're in bed with your significant other (who you may or may not have married - let's face it many of us are involved in pre-marital relationships) and the police come in and arrest you for actually SLEEPING together?  WTF? Don't the cops have anything better to do?  And it was a RADICAL decision at the time for the Supreme Court to tell the Commonwealth of Virginia that what they did was wrong. 

By now, I hope, you've figured out that the case I am referring to was Loving v. Virginia, and while each had a partner of the appropriate sex, they did not fall in love with partners of what was then the appropriate race. 

So when supporters of LGBT rights liken this to the 1960s civil rights movement regarding race, this is kinda an example of why.  We fall in love with who we fall in love with.  We should be allowed to choose the people we want to share our lives with.  We were born this way.  God made me this way.  To say that I, a creature of God, is a second class citizen is considered hateful by some. 

Now, I don't think what Cathy did was illegal, nor do I hear anyone suggesting it is.  Free speech is speech free from GOVERNMENT restriction.  The public arena is free to use their own means of expression to quell speech they find offensive.  And some are. 

Someone wrote last night that supporting Chick-Fil-A is not supporting the suppression of rights.  Well, here's the logic that says that it is.  No, Chick-Fil-A, unlike Ollie's Barbecue, is willing to serve and take anyone's money who wants to purchase their chicken and other fare.  BUT, the profit they make may be used to support anti-gay organizations who ARE fighting and making strides in suppressing the rights of all people to marry whom they love, regardless of race, or gender.  And so, some hungry people are choosing not to do so.

(Is anyone still reading at this point? Because here's where some of the humor comes in.. )  So I posted on my Facebook page (yes, my Tweeps, I do still use FB) a link to a picture of a KFC sign.  Again, there, too, I try not to be too political, and I don't think food and politic necessarily belong together, but they have since before I was born, so who am I to fight it?  The sign said "Delicious Chicken Served Without Hate"

Now a friend of mine who is a vegetarian posted a quandary this morning.  She wrote that she's not a fan of homophobes, but frankly the way that KFC treats their chickens isn't particularly humane, either. 

What's a person to do?  As I wrote in the post I first referred you to at the start, I'm not politically correct or incorrect, the best a person can do is to try to be sensitive.  Even if you can't understand why someone might be upset, be respectful that there might be a valid reason, and try to be sensitive to their pain and anguish.  When someone is angry, it is because they are hurt.  Here, people are hurt because they've been told that they are inferior citizens.  Their choice - a very valid choice - is to be angry and not accept being told that.  To let the world - or the U.S. - know that they find that treatment unacceptable.  That they find that behavior to be hateful.  No-one on either side here in the chicken world is proposing or advocating violence.  But still, as I wrote in the original Sticks & Stones, words do hurt.

Even if we don't agree, then, with what someone else is saying, let's at least begin the dialog by acknowledging their right to feel that way.  This means acknowledging Cathy's right to feel that traditional marriage is defined in the Bible as between a man and a woman, even if we disagree.  And acknowledging that this speech can be found to be hateful, even if we don't agree.  Our first choice, then, is to respect each other and try to come to some middle ground.  To respectfully engage each other in a dialog to illustrate our understandings so that maybe we might help the other to understand, too. 

The movement for gay marriage as a right actually started in the late eighties, early nineties.  Most politically active people knew then it was too early to attack that issue and change people's minds.  It may still be.  In my mind, the best choice is to create a civil domestic union, and grandfather in everyone who has been married to date.  From here forward, keep the government out of "marriage" - recognize it as a religious "sacrament" -  and let the churches decide whether to marry or not.  But let everyone have equal access to the responsibilities and the rights involved in becoming life-partners- the right to pay taxes, the right to visit in the hospital, to choose funeral arrangements, to receive social security benefits, health care insurance, etc.  Separate that from "marriage" and I think most people would be more accepting of conferring this status upon same-sex partners.  Just my two cents...

Rant, Amish Sex Swingers...and big boobs!

I'll warn you now, I'm gonna rant.  Which isn't what I want to do.  What I want to do is be more excited over how many people are finding my blog.  Including one soul today who typed in "Amish Sex Swingers" into Google and found me.  And on a Sunday! Tsk, tsk... ;) 

I'd much rather write about how exciting I am about how popular my blog is becoming, and that people are actually searching for it by name.  Someone in the last 24 hours or so actually searched for "borgblog resistance is futile."

Because, really, resistance is futile. 

Now, I need more of you to hit the 'share this' on the Facebook and Twitter buttons over there on the right... Yeah, that's right, just up a little.  But maybe not for this post.  Because I thought I was gonna rant, and that might not be a good first impression for first time readers...

Oh, if you're a first time reader... please don't judge me on this alone.  Usually I'm nicer.. less rantier.. some even say funny...

(True.. I haven't started ranting yet.. already, I'm turning my frown upside down...)

If I were to rant, and I might still do so, it would actually be the third post inspired by this particular person.  We'll call him Tom because frankly I don't know any Toms, and so hopefully I won't actually insult anyone I know.  If your name is Tom, this isn't about you.  You're safe.

If you want to know the other two posts, they are "Buttons" and "Trigger People" (except now I can't find that post even though I SWEAR I wrote it....??).

And I know, really, that while I'd like to lay all of this raw irritated emotion at his feet and at his responsibility, I know that it is mine to deal with.  So rather than respond to the e-mail I got about a half hour ago, and make the problem worse, I am reaching out to the wider social networking universe, instead.  Because I can't piss you off because this isn't about you. (Today!)

Ironically, one of today's readings spoke directly to my problem.  This is from the second letter of Paul to the Corinthians "Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated." 

OMG.  When that passage was read this morning, I immediately thought of Tom (there's even a note in my bulletin now, in case I forgot, with his name next to it).  And this was before he'd done anything grievous today.  (Don't worry, he eventually did.  He always does.  It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when).

I want so badly to respond to his e-mail.  I want so badly to spell out clearly how wrong he is and what an ass he is. 

(Hee hee, just checked twitter.  Another confession coming in.. "I like girls with big boobs!"  See you guys rock .. hard to rant when people are sharing important things like that with you.. and wanting to find Amish sex swingers...)

I know that I have a choice with Tom.  It's not one that makes me feel good about myself, frankly.  I can be right, show him and tell him I'm right and drive him right out of our church.  And sadly, I am ashamed to admit, there are several members of the church who would pat me on the back in appreciation for doing that.  And I think I'm close to having accomplished that, whether intentional or not.  After I've snapped at him, he's gotten pretty quick at leaving.

I am ashamed to admit that there is a part of me that would like to see that happen.  That thinks things would be easier without him - heck KNOWS that things would be easier without him.  But then I think of two things. 

First, what would it be like to not feel welcome in your church?  Is that something I want to make him feel?  On the one hand, I've already admitted (here, and to myself) that his presence makes me not want to go on Sundays, but do I *really* want to be the reason someone else feels that they can't go to their house of worship?  No.

The second is a post a friend wrote recently about being bullied that broke my heart having read it.  And I can't help but wonder in this situation, if I'm not being a bully? 

Man, that sucks... Can we go back to talking about big boobs and Amish Sex Swingers, please?

I wrote in my post "History in the Making" that we are quick to label ourselves the hero or the victims in our stories when we tell them.  But really, in this story, if I made him leave, would I really be a hero?  No.  And while he irritates the bejesus out of me, am I really a victim? (I wanna be able to answer, "yes", but I know the answer is) No.

Someone wrote on Twitter (it happens probably every thirty seconds or so, even if you're not following the person who tweeted - and like that tree that falls in the forest if no-one is around to hear, it still falls...) being an adult sucks. 

Yes.  Sometimes it does.  Resistance is futile.  Big boobs are nice.  And, sorry, there are no Amish Sex Swingers here, but there is some funny stuff.  And some not so funny stuff. 

Part 3! Twitter Jail!!

Well, then.  I guess I was busy tonight taking confessions and all, because I got placed in Twitter Jail!! I think of it as a badge of honor, but I'm a Twitter Jail virgin... Many of my friends have said they've never been in it...

I hope they'll treat me gentle... and not bite too hard! ;)

BTW, @inelegant_life .. all I was going to tweet to you was "Hee hee ;)" 

#crankypants and #wineparty Part Deux

Okay, you must read part 1 before you get here. You must understand the #crankyparts part of the evening before you can appreciate the #wineparty confessions part (okay, that's a lie, but, it'll help provide some perspective!)

Basically, a friend was experiecing a douchebag husband, and so I tried to entice her to join us on #wineparty.  Several mutual friends saw my attempt, and pleaded, too, that she needed to join us.  It was an innocent start.  I swear.

She mentioned that she was intimidated by #wineparty - that it moved too fast to keep up.  I told her to come and talk with us.  I promised that we didn't bite.. Well, we didn't bite HARD.  ;)

It went downhill from there...

One person replied that it was a darn shame that we didn't bite hard, at which point I offered to oblige. 

You can see how this snowballed even in the triple-digit heat.

We had all sorts of confessions in the night.  I even tried to get our hostess' (Kit @blogdangerously - if you don't read her blog you shoud!) confession, but she went to Twitter jail even without confessing first. 

Special robes were involved, and I let folks know that I was willing to take confessions in privately by DM

We had confessions about enjoying nipples... (I tried to widen my survey about whether Married Women Like Breasts...but the most I got was that they enjoyed the female form in various manners...

Well, except one girl, but I already knew about her... ;) 

It even sorta took a life of its own.  Without me.

We had porn confessions.  Confessions of a desire to murder one's family.  (We hope that didn't come true, because then we'd all become accessories before the fact and that wouldn't be good...)  Addiction to attention (had to add that, or else that person might think I wasn't paying attention, and we couldn't have that...).  It was something!

I'll continue to take confessions throughout the week.  You can tweet me @theborgblog, or e-mail me at theborgblog@gmail.com

I have special robes.  It's all official-like.  Honest.  ;)

#crankypants and #wineparty confessions...

For those of you don't already know, every Friday at 9 PM Eastern on Twitter, there is a #wineparty.  Just go to hashtag wineparty to join us.  Check out my label there on the right for #wineparty to read more about it.  Clearly it has become a recurring theme / subject for me.

Well, I started off the evening as Ms #crankypants before #wineparty began.  If you doubt me, you can ask @inelegant_life, and I'm sure she'll fill you in on the details.  (Except, I'm about to fill you in on the details, she can confirm them...). 

Just before #wineparty started, I reached this point where EVERYTHING practically was getting on my nerves.  I had gone grocery shopping earlier (a whole other post about eating healthy while being poor should be written at some point) and decided to get out of my comfort zone and buy some chicken to cook.  I wanted a garlic marinade, but the only one I found had lemon and I didn't want that.  So I bought some barbecue sauce and planned on having a relatively decent dinner (for me) tonight. 

Took a nap.  Was a bit too cranky to cook at first.  But eventually convinced myself it was the way to go.  So, I start looking up recipes - as it's been years since I made chicken myself, and wanted to see my options.  Everything I find, practically, suggests breading.  Well, no breading, so tough. 

Decide I know enough about chicken to wing it (ha!) on my own (they weren't wings, but....) and start to pull out the bag to put the marinade and then chicken in.. Got the bag.. got the chicken.. SHIT, where's the marinade?  Yep, check my receipt, it was on there.  Go check the other bags (with non-perishibles - toothpaste). Nope.  Go back out to the car. Check under seats. Nope. 

And NOW I have bed-head.  So I don't want to go back out. 

NOT end of world.  But beginning of crankiness. 

Then my neighbor out back has somebody stop by (thank god somewhat briefly) who decides to play their car radio loud enough so that everyone can hear it with their hearing aids turned down (there's a reason he put a sign above his garage that says "Asshole's Garage".. and apparently so are his friends!).  In the end, it wasn't a loud party, but I was cranky at that. 

And I'm sure there was something else that rubbed me the wrong way.  NOT a great start to #wineparty - particularly two weeks in a row. 

Fortunately, my twitter friends did NOT let me down. 

First there was a nip-"slip" by InsolentWanton (thank you, dear!) and it went uphill from there pretty quickly.

Now I've gotten better at mastering #wineparty with HootSuite, so I had my "fav-friends" list on the left column, mentions in the middle, and #wineparty on the third column. 

One of my friends on the left mentioned how her husband was a douchebag.  I proposed the appropriate solution, come visit us at #wineparty.

Now, I'm not exactly sure how that SIMPLE exchange became the basis for #wineparty confessions, but I know that biting and nibbling were involved. 

And with that, this post is long enough, and I'll start another one for #wineparty confessions.. ;)

Anonymity - Revisited

So, I continue to struggle with this issue.  I'm making new friends on Twitter - some of whom say that they feel strange calling me "Borg" (I don't understand why?) and want my real name.  And then there's my friends from real life who wonder what I'm up to, and I want to share with them that I have this crazy life on Twitter that I'm enjoying, and I am working on this increasingly popular anonymous blog.

(Okay, maybe "popular" might be a stretch, but it's "popularity" IS increasing... I have Blogger stat charts to show!!)

Today, I took a leap of faith, and told another IRL friend about the blog.  She doesn't live in the small town, so she won't recognize all of the characters... Most of the stuff she already knows about... But, still...

This balancing between two worlds is kinda weird and fragile. 

But if I hope to be as popular as Jenny, one day, and have that book deal and all, that wall will eventually come crumbling down.

Just not today...

Tribe

Last week (or has it been two weeks?) during The Bloggess Book Club, she expressed her happiness at finally having found her Tribe.   Since then the "Lawsbians" movement has taken off.  The Tribe figures that if we enjoy The Bloggess, than, at a minimum we have a quirky enough sense of humor to enjoy each other, too.

But this finding of our Tribe hits upon so many other common issues.  Finding our Tribe suggests, perhaps, we weren't already within our Tribe to begin with.  It hints at the feeling of being "outsiders" so many of us feel.

Last night, I admit, I was watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show.  Of particular relevance to this post, I watched Episode 7 of Season 1 - Toulousse Lautrec is One of my Favorite Artists.  In this episode, she interviews a wonderful author for a news segment, and then he asks her out for dinner.  When they both get off their chairs, she realizes how short he is, and then tries to be sensitive in all that she says next to him, finding herself blundering with inadvertent "short" references.  Not aided, of course, by her friend Rhoda, who refers to him as a shrimp when he's out of the room, so that when he comes back, Mary introduces him to Rhoda as Eric Shrimp.

In the meantime, in the course of the show and their spending evenings together getting to know each other, Eric finishes his second book, which he leaves for Mary to read.  It is all about how we all feel like outsiders.  He has this line, that I'll paraphrase badly, but you can hit the link above, and as long as Hulu has it, you can watch it for yourself.  He talks about high school, and how there was this one guy who was the captain of the football team, class president, and he may even have suggested he was top of the class.  And there was this one girl.  She was captain of the cheer squad, class secretary and dating the captain of the football team.  Those two people, he said, were the only ones who were actually happy in high school. 

Facebook - as much as Tweeps may diss it - has been a remarkable tool for reconnecting with people you used to know.  (Maybe Gotye should try it?).  I definitely felt on the outside in high school.  And so, when I left, there were only about two or three people I actually kept in touch with, and I never attended a reunion.  I got on Facebook the year of our twentieth reunion, and in those early stages, you clicked "Accept" on anyone whose name you recognized before you learned to filter.  And I had the opportunity prior to the reunion to actually get to know some people from my class that I hadn't been close to.  Who seemed, from the distance, to be popular and happy and well accepted at school.  And then, to learn, that they, too, were miserable in high school and felt like outsiders.

Then, since I was in town at the time, I went to my twentieth reunion.  And ran into more former class-mates who seemed like they were part of the "in" crowd only to discover they felt like they were on the outside, too.

I think we tend to underestimate our place within society and our community, and perhaps, to over-estimate others.  Twitter provides a remarkable ability to feel "closer" to celebrities and perhaps not their innermost thoughts, but their most random thoughts that they share with the thousands who follow them.  Not surprising, their tweets aren't too much different than ours.  Not surprising, their tweets often express their own insecurities, their own desire for acceptance, their own search for community and their place.  In some ways, it has to be harder for them, because we have all placed them way up high on a pedestal, outside the normal realm of society. 

But the reality is that our common denominator is that we're all human.  We all want to belong.  And so many of us often feel that we don't belong. 

Don't assume that the person next to you feels a part of your community.  The healthiest churches I have been in encourage parishioners to greet and get to know the person sitting on the pew next to them.  You can't assume that the person there feels like they belong until you let them know that they belong.  Just as you often feel out of place yourself.

I admit, I have felt that since I found Twitter, I have found "my people".  Y'all laugh at my jokes, enquire about my pain, and read my blog and ideally enjoy it (more comments to confirm doesn't hurt my self esteem or ego!)  But the reality is that we are all part of one big tribe.  The Tribe of Humanity.  You will be assimilated.  Resistance is futile.