Guess Who’s Coming to Ohio?

My lady love and I are, that’s who!  One of my friends, Kylee, got hitched a while back and is having her reception in the good ole Toledo, Ohio.  It’s the first time I’ve been back home in a long while-since at least March and it is the first time I’m brining Mirs along with me.

We’ve been dating for 28 months and we’ve only met a few of each other’s family members.  Actually, now that I write this down it has occurred to me that she’s met more of my family than I’ve met of hers.  Still, meeting the parents is definitely a big one.  It means that we’re serious.  Things are serious.  Our relationship is serious.

When we first started dating her parents came into town and she casually asked if I wanted to meet them out.  We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, perhaps a month or so, and it seemed way too soon to meet her folks.  I politely declined the invitation and waited impatiently for the long weekend to be over so that I could come to her house or invite her over for that really hot first-few-months-of-a-relationship-crazy-sex phase.  Since neither of our parents have come to NYC the chance to meet again hasn’t come up.  When the invitation for Kylee’s reception came in the mail I asked Mirs if she wanted to come up and the way her face lit up is still imprinted on my mind.  She was genuinely excited about the prospect of coming home.

Now, with only a few days to go, the nerves are kicking in a bit.  After eating an amazing dinner of veggie enchiladas that she prepared and a bottle of wine we started to unwind in bed.  She asked me what she needed to know about my mother, my father, what to expect.  I answered her questions willingly but was sort of puzzled at her sudden concern.  I told her that there were thing she could expect from both of them, but mainly that they were warm and welcoming people.  We talked about what we’d bring them, taking them to dinner and sleeping arrangements (my parents are painfully old fashioned.  No bunking unless you’re married).  When we snuggled under the blankets and started to watch ProRun it dawned on me that this was a big deal for her.  I’m going home and bringing her along but she’s getting a crash course into our family with all of its ups and downs.  Completely out of her comfort zone, she will be the lone white girl in a black household and she’s nervous, rightfully so. 

Her mother extended an invitation to come home for Christmas which I politely declined.  I’m not sure how I’m going to tell my own parents I won’t be home for Christmas and it will have nothing to do with my Judaism.  There’s no way they’d hear of my flying down south to spend an important holiday like Christmas with another family instead.  But when my time comes to visit her home I’m sure I will be an even larger bundle of nerves.  She’s a southerner coming to Yankee land but it’s no comparison for this Black girl going below the Mason Dixon into a white Republican household.  Thank G-d I’ve got the Jew card in my pocket to play.


What is Love?

Love can mean a lot of different things for a lot of different people.  In high school I learned that there were 3 different types of love; Eros, Phileo, and Agape Love.  The first being physical love, often referred to erotic love, the second being friendship love, and the third being “unconditional love”.  The idea being that the first two kinds of love could be considered love of condition, it could fade with the friendship or the affair and the third type, Agape, is the kind that is the hardest to achieve because it implies that there are no conditions; it’s a godly love.

This theory of love has been taught for centuries and I’m not here to dispute them on theory rather than to argue that one could love a person, possibly one person, on all three levels.  For instance, you could meet someone and instantly be infatuated with them, Eros.  After your infatuation subsides you begin to see the depths of the person, perhaps you start dating and as you learn more about them the Eros is combined with the Phileo.  After some time more you are in love and committed and this is where the Agape comes in.  You love this person because of who they are, not despite of who they are. 

Mirs and I are listening to some vinyl she found on the side of the street.  Some asshat threw out amazing Funk, R&B, Soul, and Old School Jams like Chaka Khan, the Village People, Diana Ross, and Donna Summers to name a few.  We’re listening Luther Vandross’s 1986 album, “Give me the Reason”  and it instantly brought me back to my childhood.

I grew up in a Victorian mansion.  Did I ever tell you all that?  I did.  It was built in 1903 by an architect I still cannot find online.  The home was beautiful and a truly magical place to live.  Long story short (wait for the memoir) my parents and I moved out of the house in 6th grade.  Almost two decades later they have purchased it again.  There was nothing more magical than me going back to the house of my childhood to babysit my nephews who are growing up in the place that I did.

When I was a girl my parents would host large gatherings of family and friends on the weekend.  My uncles, aunts, and cousins would come.  And those adults who were not related to me by blood but I called “Auntie” and “Uncle” just the same.  The men would work on multiple grills, cooking ribs, chicken, burgers and hot dogs.  There was always enough kool-aide for us kids, and beers for the adults.  The music would billow out from our music room onto our large front porch and we’d dance and sing and play hide and seek while the adults danced, talked, smoked cigarettes and enjoyed life.

One of the songs, I can’t remember the title now, played and I instantly thought of my parents.  They got divorced after twenty-odd years of marriage for about a year.  There were many stresses in their lives, too many for me to understand as their daughter but at the time I was happy my mother was rid of the burden that my father could sometimes bring with his words.  They separated, found their own individual condos, and for a year they were not man a wife.  Until my father came over one night to ask my mother on a date.  They courted, had dates, did the deed while they were dating and one day he popped the question.  Presented my mother with a new ring and asked her to marry him, again.

They’re technically and legally divorced but will be getting married, again, on the same date they did so those many years before I was a thought in their minds.  As much as I don’t understand the things that they do I understand that the underlying emotion must be love.  They are in love with one another because of their faults, their good times and their bad times.  You can’t find it every day and ony a few are lucky enough to experience it.  I feel like I’m one of those lucky ones.

I love you?

I think I may be a little paranoid here but it’s okay.  So Mirs is in Portland for a long while.  It’s actually day 4 of  10 of Mirs gone.  I’m doing really well with the time apart.  The fact that I spent two of two of those four days in Toledo at a funeral made it a little bit easier to deal with.  We haven’t chatted all that much since she’s been gone because of the funeral and the time change but when we do chat it feels, well, distant.

Physically she’s on the opposite side of the country.  When she looks at the ocean it’s a different ocean than the one I see.  The sun comes up on my side of the country and sets on hers.  We’re very far away from one another.  I can’t help but think, though, that she’s also mentally far away from me.  I’m glad for our time apart.  I’m glad that she’s in the city that she loves surrounded by the people that she loves.  Especially after the fiasco in San Francisco it’s comforting to me knowing that she’s able to attune with nature and reconnect with friends without me. 

But because of the fiasco in ‘frisco and the aftermath in Brooklyn; me moving out, this new chapter of our relationship-everything that happens gets scrutinized.  It’s hard for me to take words, or lack there of, at face value.  I’m finding that I’m questioning nearly everything and that nothing is left to chance.

The thing that’s bothering me is the “I love you”  I haven’t heard it in two days.  It’s not that I’m counting or anything and I haven’t said it either, because I’m being stubborn, which is very mature I know.  Still, it’s bothering me.  I’m almost 30 years old-game playing is incredibly immature.  It’s not that I’m purposefully playing any games because I’m not.  I’m all of a sudden very protective of my heart at this point.  I’ve been wearing it on my sleeve and now it’s feeling bruised and tattered. 

The last few months have been undeniably hard.  We’ve gone through so much and learned so much about one another.  It’s very hard to move forward when you’re continuously looking back.  There is a saying, though, that if you don’t learn from your mistakes you’ll continue to make them (I’m paraphrasing here).  So that’s where I am.  I’m trying to move forward but also trying to make sure that I’m not doing the same thing.  Since the mistakes we (I) we made weren’t apparent to me it’s hard for me to figure out what, exactly, we’ve done wrong to get us to where we are now.  So it’s hard to know how to make those wrongs rights.

Just over a year.  That’s how long we’ve been together.  Our first year traveled at warp speed.  We moved so quickly and some could say carelessly or recklessly but that’s what happens when you’re in love.  Love sometimes makes you blind.  It prevents you from seeing straight.  It’s all emotion and you act on it, rather than thinking things through.  It’s dangerous, loving in this way, but you do it because it feels so good.  I don’t know what the future holds and I’m not sure how to keep my mind from thinking the thoughts that are playing out over and over again.  All I can do is trust myself.

What About Your Friends

TLC was perfection. I loved them way back in the day when they wore boyish clothes and Left Eye (RIP) would walk around with condoms over her left eye. She always had some sort of braided pigtail, if I’m not mistaken.

Yes, that’s the era I’m referring to. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved when they got all femme and started wearing more form-fitting outfits and exposed more of their midriffs. “What About Your Friends” was one of my favorite songs. It has a great beat, the lyrics were awesome, back when rap rhymed and every other word wasn’t B@tch or N*gga.

I’ve been thinking about friends for a long time. Mirs’ friends more specifically. Do you know that only one of her friends has come over to be with her in the almost four weeks she’s been injured. One. It’s got her thinking about who her friends are and making her depressed because reality, it seems, is that she has none.

We’re different in that I made this discovery a while ago and realized that I didn’t have friends but that I had acquaintances. My “real” friends sort of drifted off and there are only a handful of people that I can call and have real conversations with. I can not talk to my real friends for days, weeks, months, or a year but when I pick up the phone, or we happen to be in the same place at the same time we fall back into our friendship right where we left off. This is a real friend.

One of my real friends that I know I can always count on is my friend Matthew. He’s a great guy still living back home so I never see him. He’s just out of law school and working for the father of a famous actress so he’s always busy and I can never get him on the phone. Every once in a while, though, we’ll connect via phone, text message, facebook, whatever and I know that I can spill my guts on him and he I and it’s good.

I consider my ex roommates, the Sisters Gordon, to be my friends, too. Working and living with someone can put a strain on a friendship. It’s also kind of stressful to be friends with sisters without making it seem to them that you prefer one over the other. That’s just how sisters are. I get to see one of them almost every day and we sneak away at work to have quick chats about our lives. We share confessions and secrets that we know are safe with the other.

I’d be lying if I said that I don’t wish there was still a larger circle of friends that I had to lean on. I’ve found through age that friendships are harder than they appear. I know a few people who have retained friendships forged in grammar school and I wonder what became of my grammar school friends. I know what happened, I’m a social butterfly. I flit from friend to friend day in and day out of my grammar school, high school, and college life. I’ve dropped so many friends without giving it a second thought when the friendship failed to suit me or if the drama became to much to handle. I didn’t feel like I needed to deal with those things, therefore was never really invested in any friendship I felt was a bad deal. Friendships with high interest rates and poor yields weren’t worth my time. I can see a bad deal friendship from a mile away. They’re always fun, the fun times seem to roll on effortlessly but there’s no substance. You ride it out until the it stops and you part ways.

Feelings have been hurt but it’s mostly one sided. I never really let people in all that much if I’m not sure about them. I take a lot from them, though. I’ve mentioned that before. Not in a vampire sucking the life out of them way, but in that you can tell me all of your problems and I’ll listen to you, therefore you think I’m a good friend yet you have no time to listen to my problems sort of way. When I find that they’re doing all the taking, I’m doing all of the giving and there’s no space in between I bail. And when I bail I dump you for good. It’s harsh but it’s the way that it has to be.

I’ve never had a break up that’s dragged on and on and on. When we break up, we’re done. It’s over. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. I’m friends with one of my exes and that friendship developed a good year after we broke up.

It’s a defense mechanism to protect me from getting hurt by too many people. It’s allowed me to be really selective with my friendships which is why I’ve clung so tightly to my Friend Crush. I told her last night that she was officially stuck with me and she seemed pretty good with that. It makes me happy that I can add one more friend to the handful I already have.

Mirs is quite different than me in this respect. She has friends that she’s kept since her time in college. She depends on her friends for a lot of her life’s happiness. They define her and make her who she is as a person. She counts on them for support and love.

It’s a hard pill to swallow to find out that the people you depend on most outside of your family aren’t really there for you at all. That they’re selfish and too wrapped up in their own worlds to pick up the phone or make a house visit in your time of need.

This ankle injury, seemingly simple at first, has proved to be so difficult for her on so many different levels. It’s no big surprise that it’s been difficult for me as well, and on our relationship. It’s a sprain, according to her doctor, a severe,sprain/strain on

Trouble the Water

It’s still tough living in a 200 square foot studio. Tough is not the right word. It’s hard. Sometimes it feels like torture. We had another (another) discussion (talk, argument, processing session) last night. It started with questions, doubts, concerns, truths. In the middle some where there were tears, folded arms, cold looks, red, swollen eyes, and ended in a tangle of sheets, sweating skin, and breaths that came out in pants.

We decided that we haven’t had enough sex. Seriously, since moving in it sort of came to a screeching halt. Not enough sex + a wildly independent girl totally dependent on me + 200 square foot apartment = total fucking disaster.

We’ve started looking for bigger apartments. We’re browsing Craigslist looking for 2 bedrooms. Would a bigger apartment help? Is this the real solution or are there real, deeper problems that a larger space can’t fix?

It’s almost a year. June 25th will be our year anniversary. Last night I looked over at her and she looked back at me, our tears streaming down our faces, our emotions raw and open and we asked if we wanted to do this-could we do this-are we going to do this. yes, Yes, YES.

It’s amazing how much a little thing like space can test a relationship. It’s only been two months in this small space but it feels like years. It feels long, it’s tedious, it’s annoying. There’s no where to go-no place to escape frustrations, anger, hurt, whatever. I can’t flee to another room, I can’t really leave her for long periods of time with her injury. There’s no where to hide. My face and hers, too, show a complete and vivid picture of what’s going on in our minds. I can see when she’s feeling something. She can see when I’m feeling something. It’s forced us to confront all of those feelings, those emotions, those somethings head on and deal with them right then and there.

It’s been tiring, but it’s worth it. In the end, she wants to be with me and I want to be with her. These two months have been like a mountain we’ve had to climb together. We’re almost to the top. I can’t even begin to think about what it’s going to be like to try to find an apartment together and decorate that apartment together. We have completely opposite tastes in decor. For me, though, how to decorate an apartment is a small thing-getting to the point where we’re doing the arguing over wall paper or furniture or appliances? I just want to get there.

Who Ever Said Co-Habitation was Bliss…

…never lived in a 200 square foot studio apartment. Seriously, ya’ll…shit is not okay in the merry land of gay love. I mean it’s definitely not that bad, okay it’s that bad. But not that that bad. It’s definitely not good, though.

I don’t even know where to start. I actually started two other blogs that were complete and utter bullshit because it’s so raw and open and real when I discuss my relationship here. But, it’s what I do. It’s real lesbian life-with all of the real tears, anger, fears and frustrations. Minus the make up artist, wardrobe assistants and amazing homes you find in your average L Word Episode. Shit has hiteth the faneth.

I don’t even know how it happened, really. We had a really amazing weekend. We planted our heirloom tomatoes, tended our herbs, biked through Brooklyn, ran into friends in Prospect Park…all was fine.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, in Prospect Park on a blanket with organic pale ale, black berries, and raw cheeses she made the face. That face she makes when she’s thinking about something that she’s not yet ready to discuss. But that something is causing her to think, to ponder. She’s thinking and pondering and it’s effecting her. She’s making the face.

“What’s wrong” I ask

“Nothing” she lies

“Yes, something’s wrong, Mirs. Don’t lie to me, tell me what it is.”

It sounds super cliche doesn’t it? It sound super lesbian, “I know you’re hiding from me, tell me what it is. I can feel you feeling something. I know you’re thinking about something, tell me.”

So she finally talks and it’s about the apartment and all of the shit every where.

Let’s fast forward to 10AM that day. She woke up in what my mother has always said, ” A piss-poor mood.” So piss-poor the moment I left the house, which was more like escaping the death trap of exaggerated sighs and slammed doors, I phoned my mother. I got her voice mail and left her a frantic message once again comparing the love of my life, the woman that I want to marry, the person who completes me to my father.

There is a reason that you shouldn’t EVER need someone to complete you- and this is it. They’ll be your father. Besides the fact that you should find yourself completely whole before getting into a committed relationship with anyone and therefore be a “complete” person who just needs a partner. Don’t fret-I’m complete on my own. Keep reading. It gets better.

So Mom doesn’t pick up and I find myself walking the 3 blocks to the L train talking to her answering machine as though I’m having a real conversation with her, the person. I’m rambling on about how Mirs is more and more like a horrible hybrid of them both with every passing day, how she’s not only a completely neurotic clean freak like she is also a complete bipolar, with crazy mood swings that seem to come out of no where, like my father.

The train pulled into the station and I sat down with an audible sigh and crossed my arms over my chest and sulked.

Who does she think she is? Why would she want me to live there when she’s so clearly miserable. Her shit is every where, EVERY WHERE and my shit is crammed into the tiniest corner in the whole fucking place. What the fuck? What more can I do? Why, oh why did I move out of my peaceful escape in Harlem!?

I was on the train not only escaping her wrath but to find a clothes rack to put my shit. I got off of the train at 14th street and walked to Home Depot first. We needed more organic Potting Soil for our last heirloom tomato.


I’m Baaaack!

So much to update!

I wasn’t nominated for a Lezzy. That is such a bummer. I think it’s because I’ve only been on blogger since May. That and I only have two followers. I had three, and then one disappeared. I wonder if I did something wrong. Did I do something wrong? You’d think that with only three followers that I would remember those three people’s names and that we’d have this really wonderful, deep, and passionate Internet friendship. You’d think that we’d be all, “hey you, how was your day?” or “Hey, pal! How’s life?” Sadly, no. That’s not the case. It’s probably my fault that I lost my third follower. Is it my fault? Is it because I haven’t posted a blog since the 10th. I have a good reason. (It’s #2) It’s a really good reason, too, I swear.
I should get more followers. I wonder how Ms Snarker has so many. I should ask her. I will! I will ask Ms. Snarker from Dorothy Surrenders how it came to be that she has so many followers. Maybe she can be my mentor in this big crazy world of blogging. She’ll be my mentor and then I’ll get a Lezzy nomination. That’s not to say that there aren’t other fantastic lezzie blogs out there. There are. (This is when I say hello to my blog friends) Okay. I have one, really, who actually writes me back. Brown Girl Gone Gay, in the ATL by way of other small town, hello. She likes me, too. She’ll be my lezzie blogging mentor.

If you have not voted for your favorite blog, make sure to do it TODAY! You have 24 hours to make your votes. So take a minute to click on this link here

got that? go to that website and vote for your FAVORTITE cyber dykes 🙂

Maybe this time next year I’ll have millions, okay hundreds, okay at least 20 followers and then I will be nominated for a Lezzy, too.

Second: Dawg, My Mirs is doing much, much better! Thanks so much for asking. I briefly blogged about my absence. It was my lady. She came down with either a 24 hour flu or some wicked food poisoning from some shitty restaurant in NYC. Either way, it was not a good scene.
On Valentine’s Day we were supposed to go to a party called “Broken Hearts”, thrown by her friend Jessica in the Stuy in Brooklyn. The attire was all black, the attendees, super artsy hipster straight folks and a handful or more of queers. I was stoked to go. We’d spent the beginning of our day hanging out in Brooklyn. We walked around Williamsburg (yes, I still hate it) and Bushwick, in and out of thrift stores and cheese shops. We found some good deals and ate really yummy cheeses. Some where between Urban Jungle and home my eczema flared up around my face. I was pretty sure that I had my toxic eczema cream at Mirs but when we got home, I was wrong. Instead of scratching my face off I opted for some Benedryl. Plus Wine. Equals knocked the fuck out, for about three hours. When I woke up Mirs was just out of the shower. She laid down next to me and texted our friend, Athea, to see what the plan was. While we snuggled and waited for Athea’s response she mentioned how she was feeling a little tired. I told her that I was completely wiped out, but ready to go if she was.
Athea texted back about five minutes later that her lady was feeling under the weather and that they’d be spending the evening in. Since I was already half asleep and Mirs was all of a sudden feeling tired, we decided to stay in.
Fast forward two hours and Mirs is ass naked, sweating bullets, yet shivering that she’s cold. She’s taken off all of her clothes, because they “hurt” but needs blankets because she’s cold.
We finally got her comfortable and laid down for the night, so I thought. Instead, she tossed, turned, and moaned and got up three times to vomit. I forced fluids, gave her Advil for her fever, and stroked her body, when it didn’t hurt too much.
Half way through the night, freaked out and panicked at her crazy sweats, her intense sensitivity to clothing or touch, and her writhing in pain, I suggested that we go to the hospital. She objected, turned over on her side, and spent the rest of the night throwing blankets off her sweaty body, just to pull them back on minutes later when she was cold.
This went on for the entire night.
The next morning I woke up and went to the grocery store looking for ingredients to make brothy soup, Popsicles, and electrolytes. I made the most ridiculously bland vegetable soup, fed her saltines, vitamin water, and juice pops for the whole of the next day. We sat in bed, watching David Attenborough talk about Mammals on Netflix.
By day three she was on the mend and her apartment smelled like sick sweat. We changed her sheets, got down some rice and lentils and she started to look a bit better.
Today she’s fine, a little weak and hungry. She went to class and I went to work. She’s actually in the kitchen now making me her Grandma’s matzo ball soup. I’m not even sick!
I don’t think there’s really a third. Stuff is going on at work that I can’t really discuss because folks from work read my blog.

I almost forgot! How could I forget this!?! Okay. Remember WAY back before my wonderful and amazing girlfriend, Mirs? When I was having phone text and then actual sex with S? Homegirl called me! Well, she texted me at 12:30AM. Since I got my new fancy Blackberry phone to replace my piece of crap older Blackberry phone I lost all of my phone numbers. On Mirs sick day #2, I wake to find the text.

12:30AM “HEY!”
11:23AM “Hi, Who’s this”
11:25AM “It’s S@#$ S@#^%, blah blah blah
I deleted the text so the times are complete bullshit.

ANYWAY, she goes on to say something like, “I can’t believe you deleted me. My girlfriend and I broke up. How’s your relationship”

I responded with something like, “That’s too bad, Mirs is amazing, going to the grocery to make her soup. I got a new phone, sorry your number’s gone”

Then she’s all “Oh, glad you two are happy. Just wanted to say hi. I need some lesbian friends”

To which I responded, “Yeah, totally, finding friends is hard. I’ll call you sometime.”

So I told Mirs about it and she found it amusing. And then she goes, Erika I know you’ve been looking for lesbian friends, too. If you want to hang out with her you should.

I love my girlfriend. She’s so fucking amazing.

But, no. I do not want to hang out with her. It’s not because we fucked. It’s because she’s unstable. We have sex in the middle of the night, because she calls at 2AM and then the next morning she goes home and then a week later she’s back with her girlfriend. Reading that back it sounds like I’m pissed or something so I don’t feel the need to really explain it much farther than this. She and I didn’t “have”
anything. She was a girl I chatted with online and occasionally via text message.
A long, long time ago. In new Erika Mirs land. She sent me a text suggesting a threesome with me, Mirs, and her. I declined. Weeks later she says she’s fighting with her girlfriend, I offer support. Then a few weeks later she sends a random text to hang out. (At this point I’m insanely in love with Mirs) I ask her how her relationship is going. To which she sends me this crazy text back calling me a fucking bitch, telling me I’m nosey, and that it has nothing to do with me. ( I swear to the baby Jesus) Then an hour later sends another apologizing and blaming wicked PMS. Hmmmm. That was the last text-at the end of the summer.

So what am I supposed to do with that? Why would I want to be friends with this person. The Midwestern Ohio girl wants to give her a chance. I am struggling for lesbian friends of my own in NYC. Every lezzie I know is Mirs’ friend before mine and it’s hard. I’m not that hard up for lez friends, though. Good god. Is this called Dyke Drama? I suppose it could be, if I let it. I’m too old for it, though.

So that’s that. There’s lots on my mind, actually, and lots to say. But it’s almost eleven, I’ve got a little bit of beer left and some soup to eat. I’m drunk, tired, and feeling frisky. So good night.

P.S-Come back third follower. I miss you.
P.P.S-The beer Mirs got from her bodega down the street was only $2 it’s more thatn 12oz and it’s 9.5% alcohol…

Right Now

Right now I’m at the Doctor’s Office. I’ve been here for only about ten minutes. I decided that I couldn’t deal with this headache for another night. It’s gotten sort of interesting and everyone has a diagnosis. Web MD tells me that I could have a thyroid problem, so do my Mom and Mirs. Web MD also tells me that I could have various forms of cancer. One of my favorite associates, a Chakra and Reiki Healer thinks that the stomach pain could be many forms of constipation-both physically and mentally. She says it could be a manifestation of my frustrations because of Mirs and I’s inability to give birth. It’s not that we can’t physically give birth, we’re just not in the place to do so right now. I love this girl, she’s truly amazing and I think that her Reiki touch will be beneficial when we are ready to start a family. I think some work on my uterus in about 3 years could be useful. Today’s not that day.

The headache has kept me awake for two nights now. Or it could be the fact that I couldn’t sleep with Mirs for the second night in a row that kept me awake. I’m sure its a combination of the two. (I’ll probably be told that I’m stressed.) Mirs and I spent the second night alone because she’s still getting into the grove of things with the semester starting again. There have been a lot of things going on there, actually, that I haven’t talked about because I’m trying to be the good, stable, and supportive girlfriend that I always am.

She’s been feeling stressed about her lack of drive over the last few months; she didn’t apply to as many PhD programs as she’d planned, she is feeling uneasy about her application, she works at Riker’s Island with disgusting men in the “Hole” she’s got a lot on her plate. This, I know. So with school starting again and me knowing the amazing preparation that is my lady in school mode, I know she wants to get the first several assigned readings taken care of on her syllabus. I know she needs to be in the library for extended periods of time. She’s got to be in the lab, she has so much to get done. The last month or so has been a dream. Her winter break was a little over a month long and while she was working at Riker’s Island (while the other interns stayed home) she and I practically spent every hour that I was away from work side by side. She should have been studying, in retrospect.

So, because we’ve been doing all of this time spending and she hasn’t been doing a lot of work, the stress levels of my sweet, sweet, girl have heightened a bit. I’m there for her. I want her to succeed, I know she’s a perfectionist. She needs some time and I’ve been giving it to her. This meant that for the past few nights and some days I’ve been accompanying her to school while she prints out article after article in the lab. I watch her squint at the computer screen in her cute glasses that Tallulah, my old Yorkie, chewed up and click article after article as she sends it to the printer. I got a lot of work done too, actually. We’re deep in review season and I have over 15 managers to review and 5 associates, not to mention finishing my own self-assessment. We’ve been doing really well working together. We decided, though, that until she got back into the swing of things that we should probably limit our nights together from every single night to when it’s the most convenient for both of us. This was not yesterday or the night before.

I’m a good girlfriend. I’m understanding. I’m supportive.

In all this we’ve also been working on reconnecting with our friends. The first 8 months of our relationship we’ve relinquished all ties to anyone and everyone who were every a part of our lives before we entered each other’s lives. This means a lot of friends. A lot of friends. We started to feel bad. Especially when the phone would ring and we’d glance at the caller ID and decide it best to ignore the ringing and go back to love making. After 8 months friends are no longer amused and a bit more demanding.

My good friends are all either not in New York, newly married, or newly engaged. They’re where I was at the beginning of the summer. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made dates with Mark just to have him (or me) send a lame text to cancel the date for something (our girlfriends/his wife)came up. My other better friends are my roommates and my besties, well they live in that black hole called Toledo, Ohio.

Mirs, on the other hand, has a lot of Portland transports living here in the Big Apple. She’s been reconnecting with her friends on days I’m working or nights we’ve decided it best that we stay in our own boroughs. So, we talked last night, right before bed, and made plans to spend today together-after the hour long wait in the doctor and my diagnosis of my ailment. I called her on lunch and she told me that we maybe could have tentative plans with one of her school friends who she was supposed to hang out with the night before who wanted to reschedule for today and was that okay.

I’m a good girlfriend. I’m understanding. I’m supportive

Needless to say, the lack of sleep and the lack of understanding and irrationality that I, Erika K. Davis, I was not a happy camper. I told her to have a good time and hung up the phone. Drama of the Dyke variety. Of course, I instantly felt horrible about it and immediately sent her some text messages that said things like, “I don’t understand” ” I feel hurt” you know, I-statements. We talked again because her Motorola is no match for my Blackberry. I again blew up and made irrational statements about her being cruel and rude, and not understanding my need to be with her. She, the always wonderful, impossibly sweet, incredibly kind and compassionate woman of my dreams complied with all of my snarky, biting remarks and apologized. She apologized. I was the bitch, here.

Talking to Mom while walking to the Doctor (still waiting-Fucking people who got here AFTER me are going in. What the fuck is up with that shit!?) Mom said, “I woulda hung up on your dumb ass!” Mirs and Mom are different kinds of Virgos. Mom is the Jersey girl who ended up in Ohio, land of nice. Mirs is from the land of nice, Texas-girl who lives in New York.

So then I sent this text

E-I’m sorry I’m being awful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why I’m picking fights with you.

-You are the most important person in my life and I love you with all my heart

M-Youre not please don’t worry i love you

E-I’m sorry. I feel horrible. I’m just projecting my insecurities onto you and that’s completely unfair.

M-Baby i love you please don’t worry i’m looking forward to seeing you


Do I or do I not have the best girlfriend on the planet. It’s true, though. I’m totally projecting and I’m so selfish. I just want to spend every night with her and have to keep remembering that she’s in school. She’s getting her PhD. She’s got stuff to do. Shit, I’ve got stuff to do. I’ve got a manuscript to finish, I’ve got blogs to write, I have finances to get in order, not to mention going to the gym, volunteering, and yoga. There is so much stuff that I could and should be doing in the time that we get apart from one another.

Instead, I make her feel badly about having study groups and beers afterwards with classmates who invite me along because they’d like to see me again. I’m pretty passive aggressive, a lot of the times. It rears its ugly head frequently and without mercy-to everyone except for her. I feel like poop. Well, I felt like poop. Now, I just am excited to see her and am thankful that I have a girlfriend who’s understanding and supportive.

So, here I am. On E 65th Street Between 2nd and 3rd listening to George Michael and people’s names being called that aren’t mine. The headache is almost blinding. Thankfully there are no smells or sounds or bright lights to aggravate it more.

If another fucking person gets to go in before me, though, I may have to get Bette on a sista…
Now I’m at Mirs (thank god) drinking some Organic Beer, fresh out of a steam in Mirs’ bathroom.  The one good thing about having an impossibly small bathroom like Mirs’ is that it makes taking a doctor’s ordered steam a lot easier.  The official, or rather un-official diagnosis of the headache isn’t cancer or the thyroid-although I forgot to mention the family history with the thyroid problem.  It’s actually, most likely, a sinus head ache.  An OTC should clear it up in about a week and if it doesn’t a CATscan is always an option.
As far as the abdominal pain goes.  That, will be a bit more complex.  I get to go and have a vaginal ultrasound done to check out my ovaries and uterus.  YAY!  I’m really excited to know that there may or may not be something wrong with my reproductive organs that may or may not inhibit or make it extremely difficult for my girlfriend and I to have a baby.  Where the eff is that associate and her Reiki now!?

Knitting as distraction

I learned how to knit from my friend, Tiara, at Thanksgayving-almost a week ago now. Today I can say that I’ve sort-of mastered the basic knit and a basic pearl stitch. Looking down at what was to be a scarf for Mirs, I think I have to unravel the whole thing and start again. It was looking pretty good, actually, until I confused the two stitches and then…well, it looks kind of terrible. And not in the charming, first knitted gift from my girlfriend way.

Mirs is studying for finals and I’ve become a delusional, kinda crazy girlfriend. Totally NOT myself. For some reason, I heard “I need to study for finals” as “I don’t want to see you” I like to blame it on the PMS I’m experiencing this week. I’m not this girl. I’m usually really rational and confident.

When I was talking to my roommate, Case, about it tonight I discovered that I am starting to turn into “that girl.” And I hate her. What happened to the old Erika. The super confident and and strong girl that Mir fell in love with 6 months ago…She’s in here, I know she is. I think it’s because we’ve been so spoiled for the past few months; spending every day and every night together. It’s been amazing, I will tell anyone that-shit, I do tell everyone that. Unfortunately, it’s made us sort of…loners. We spend so much time together that most of our friends are starting to wonder if we’re still alive-or have stopped caring.

At the beginning of November we decided that we’d start being people again and start hanging out with our friends again. We’ve been doing well, too! We met some of her old friends and some of mine. We spent Thanksgayving with friends and she spent the day after with her friends. Last night we went to the Trailblazers game @ the Garden and had a great time. AND we’ve spent TWO whole nights apart in the past week…not consecutive, but, it’s a start.

She needs her space to study. She’s getting her PhD, for fucksake! I know this. So why, why dear god, why am I crying all day and every night like a little girl? I’m not sure but I’ve got to figure it out. It’s never cute, but it’s tolerated. I doubt, though, that she’ll tolerate for much longer…soon, the tough Texan that’s hiding inside her will emerge and I’m sure I’ll have a real reason to cry.

So, for now, I’m focusing on my knitting, my writing, my cooking, and my work.