I just got off the phone with my mother. Holy shit, that woman is so frustrating sometimes. Yesterday we had a break through. I finally got to talk to her about my relationship with Mir and talk to my mom like we used to talk before I came out. Mirs and I were having a disagreement about an impending visit from her ex girlfriend visit for New Years… yeah…
Anyway, the way I found out was a little unnerving and to blow off steam I called my mother. I started our conversation with, “I know you don’t like to hear about Mir and I, but she’s my girlfriend and I need to talk to you about it.”
Thankfully, she was really open and I had my first mother-daughter conversation about my girlfriend. It felt wonderful to be able to talk to her again and she gave me good advice. Such good advice that I took it and everything between Mirs and I is blissful again.
Today, I talk to her and we’re having a good time. I’m going through the list of black women in the entertainment industry who I think are gay; Queen Latifah, Missy Elliot, Whoopi Goldberg…She was all, “Yeah, yeah Wanda Sykes is a dyke, I heard. But, Queen Latifah is not a dyke, Erika, and neither are you.”
It was like a blow to the stomach to hear her say that-again. I thought we’d made progress, and we have. Still, it’s really frustrating to hear her easily and quickly dismiss what is the most important relationship of my life as a fluke.
Her reasoning is that I’ve never been in a relationship that’s lasted more than two years, and when Mirs and I hit two years then she’ll acknowledge it. I doubt that after the first year that she’ll continue referring to it as a phase and finally accept it, and me.
Miriam says that she’s doing pretty well, considering the circumstances, and that in some ways my mother is taking it a lot better and accepting it better than her mother, who’s had a decade to deal with her dyke daughter. While that’s comforting to hear, it’s still upsetting.
I’ve said it before, but I get that it’s hard to have her daughter come out to her at age 28. I lived my life as a lie for such a long time. And while we did share everything, which we did, I left my true feelings hidden from her. She feels like she knows me better than I know myself, and in some ways she does. On the other hand, I was really good at lying to her and to myself for so long that the Erika she thinks she knows is the one I let her see.
In other news, speaking of rockin‘ rappers of the late eighties and early nineties, we’re at Mir’s house listening to LL Cool J and making snickerdoodle cookies, without electrical appliances. Did I ever tell you that I was dating a hippie girl? Briefly, the love of my life, Mirs, is a total ex hippie. She doesn’t like to buy new things and fully believes in doing things the way it used to be done, like making cookies with a wooden spoon rather than an electric mixer. I just did round one of stirring the flour mixture into the egg and sugar mixture and my awesome arms aren’t as awesome as I thought. I can stay in plank pose until the cows come home but mixing flour…no thanks. I also just got flour mixture on my pj bottoms and zip up hoodie which pisses me off a bit. Our aprons are hanging on the wall-now I understand why aprons were invented.
Way back in the 50’s any American housewife, let’s call her Jane, was wearing a pretty printed dress, preparing a four course dinner for her husband, children, and the husband’s boss and wife who just happen to be coming over for dinner as well. I see her frantically stirring flour in a large bowl, blistering her hands, ruining her manicure and suddenly the flour flies out and sprinkles all over her dress. She curses her life; her husband, her husband’s boss and wife, and her “good for nothing” kids and daydreams about her lover, Judy…