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.

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Black, Gay, and Jewish Part One

Like the title?  It’s a play on Rebecca Walker’s memoir, Black, White, and Jewish, which is on my long list of books to read about Jewish Identity.  Now before you page back trying to figure out what you’ve missed rest assured you haven’t “missed” any big announcement.  I’m not Jewish, I’m still a_______.  It’s just something that I’m considering.  This considering converting issue has been a little bit of a debate as of late.  I suppose the word debate is completely wrong because no one has really been debating with me.  Folks just seem to have really strong opinions and strong reactions.  Funny thing is, most of those opinions and reactions are coming from all of my non-Jewish friends.  None of them are strongly affiliated to any religion that I am aware of.  Some of them affiliate with family beliefs, others don’t talk about religion and don’t seem particularly observant to me.  Yet, everyone’s got an opinion from a raised eyebrow of suspicion to a pointed “Why?!”  and the latest, “you should do some soul-searching” 

The soul-searching comment came from my sister and the funny thing is, I’ve been wanting to tell her to do that for 10 years!  I’m not getting into that shit because it pisses me off.  I will say this, you’d think that the one person who maybe would save the judgement call would be her.  For all of her faults, my frustrations and anger at her decision making I’ve tried so hard not to pass judgement on her.  Here I am making an adult decision that would virtually only affect me and my future children and she’s judging me as though I’ve announced that I’ve decided to worship Satan. 

Rant about my sister is over.

There is a saying that goes, “Not all who are lost wander.  Not all who wander are lost”  This is the perfect metaphor for me and my life.  It can be and has been said that I am always searching for something.  That something is most definitely, without a doubt, my identity.  I’ve been searching for what and who Erika is for as long as I can remember.  It occurred to me about 5 years ago that I was looking at myself right in the mirror-but I’d chosen to ignore me.  I was talking and I wasn’t listening.  Instead I was really, really good at making myself into the mirror images of everyone around me.  I’m astoundingly good at making myself into what someone wants me to be, a.k.a, what’s comfortable for them.  As a result, I’m still a wicked-good liar.  It was going to happen that way, I’ve spent the majority of my life lying to appease others.

There was something amazingly cathartic about leaving home.  For some it is unmentionable, something you’d never do, never consider, never an option.  For me, it was my only choice.  And it’s not that I’m turning my back on my parents, my home, my history per se moreover I’m allowing myself to better appreciate my parents, my home, my history.  In terms of coming out I made a choice.  I could live the life I wanted to live privately and continue to lie to my parents or I could live the life I wanted to live openly and risk losing them.  Knowing my parents I was quite certain that I wouldn’t lose them but rather my history of molding myself into the image of others would be thrown back into my face. 

My coming out letter (I don’t recommend sending a mass e-mail) catapulted a serious of heated e-mails zipping back and forth through the internet from my father to my cousins to my mother and always back to me with the great and amazing horror that became the “Reply All” button.  In the end those who know that I’m gay either don’t talk about the fact that I’m gay or have forgotten the entire incident.  My mom knows who M is and that we’re together.  She’s even gone as so far as to tell me which US cities are gay-friendly.  Yet, when I told her that I wanted to talk about something with her this weekend in DC she asked if it was about my “condition.”  Okay, I don’t think she actually said condition-she actually said “situation” which is equally appalling, like it’s some sort of under the table, back door, dirty family secret I wasn’t to discuss.  (Am I a dirty family secret?)  Seriously, everybody know’s I’m a homo!

I told her not to worry, M and I weren’t married or engaged yet and she breathed an audible sigh of relief.  So when I told her that I was thinking about converting to Judaism she dismissed it, as she’s done with my sexuality.  I suppose I understand, I have thrown a lot of things her way but the reaction that I got was a bit unexpected.  Maybe it’s because I chose the words, “considering” rather than just saying, “I’m converting”  The reason I did it in that way is because I’m still not sure.  I’m strongly leaning in that direction but I only stepped foot into a synagogue last week and the idea of not doing any type of work on Shabbat is still daunting.  I’m already knee deep in shit at work for the mention of applying for the Peace Corps (did I mention that part, too?) how am I going to explain to my boss that I need to start observing Shabbat?  I’m sticking with my guns on this one. 

Everything.  Literally everything from playing grade school basketball, to running for class president, to attending UD, to pledging a sorority, to my brief stint as a pagan has been to fit in to whatever group I wanted.  This living my own life thing is harder than I imagined and it’s taken until now, 30 years old, for me to feel comfortable with rejection of those closest to me, my family.  So welcome, readers, to this fun new world of self-discovery.  Black, Gay, and Jewish will be weekly observations and I hope you enjoy it.

I did absolutely nothing yesterday…and it was everything I hoped it would be and more

My lady and I had the intentions of getting a lot of stuff done on our mutual Sunday off.  We planned on waking up relatively early to get some breakfast.  We’d then venture into the city to run some errands and finish the day making dinner together at her place.  Instead we stayed in bed literally all day long.  We did take a break from our self-induced bed-in to put in one itty bitty load of laundry and to buy sustenance from the market. 

In our break from under the covers wonder we got a chance to catch the Three Kings Day parade that went down Graham Ave in Williamsburg/Bushwick which was pretty spectacular.  One of my favorite things about NYC is its diversity.  I’ve never been in such a place where culture is preserved so beautifully and where heritage and pride in that heritage is celebrated so vibrantly. 

In all of the five boroughs there are little pockets of culture.  Mir’s neighborhood has Latin American roots.  The last building she lived in was mostly Dominican and the one she lives in now is predominately Mexican.  Graham Ave is called “Puerto Rico Ave” and flags from all over Latin America fly proudly out of apartment windows, stenciled to the backs of cars, worn as sexy shirts by girls in the summer.

The neighborhood I lived in, Morningside Heights, was very Senegalese and West African.  Now I live in Bed Stuy/Crown Heights- a neighborhood literally teeming with cultural diversity.  In my building alone there are accents from all over the West Indies; Trinidad, Jamaica, you name it.  Across the hall lives a couple from a place in India I’m not aware of.  There are roti shops next to authentic African Dress makers.  There are men wearing turbans and men dressed for the mosque down the street.  It’s so amazing it’s almost overwhelming to walk into my building and smell the different curries mingling with the smell of ridiculously strong pot.  One of the reasons I never want to leave NYC is because I’m quite certain that this level of in-depth cultural pride cannot be found in such varied forms any where else in the world.  It’s refreshing.

So back to our lazy day.  We woke up and lulled around under her mountains of blankets and quilts.  We’d emerge individually to loo or to feed or let out her cat before returning to the warmth of the blankets.  Lines from “Sunday Morning” by Maroon Five come to mind, “steal some covers share some skin”  “you twist to fit the mold that I am in”…it was that kind of morning, afternoon, evening filled with whispers, kisses, food, beer, football and Season 4, the best season, of the L Word.  We didn’t do anything but it meant everything.  It was absolute perfection and exactly the way I needed to start my week.

bring on 2010

Last year when I did my blog thing on Blogger I wrote a post called “We’re in a Resolution State of Mind”  Take a few moments to go read it and then com back to me.  https://ohiolezgirlinnyc.wordpress.com/2009/01/05/were-in-a-resolution-state-of-mind/

So here I am, just 3 days away from the New Year and I’m wondering if I’ve kept any of my resolutions from last year.  The very honest answer is no.  Starting with working out.  I actually watched month after month $99 exit my checking account and go to Crunch and I never went to the gym.  Maybe a dozen times and that’s really stretching it.  I cancelled my membership with them just to be wooed back at a lower fee without the committment-I can quit when I want to.  I had a startling realization when I was at the ER at home with my stomach bug.  I need to drop about 40 lbs.  It sounds really drastic and I’m fairly certain that if I did I would look like a bobble head doll.  I also tend to be under the impression that the scale is the devil and doesn’t ever give you an accurate assessment of your fitness or health.  All of that procrastination aside, I really should use the gym that I’m spending now just $69 a month to belong to.

Truth be told, I have to admit that I think I’ve lost a bit of who I am in my relationship.  It is, of course, bound to happen a little bit because a relationship is about compromise and that constant ebb and flow of taking and giving but I know that I always give a little too much.  I do it in every relationship- not just my romantic one with my girl friend but with friends, co-workers, my associates.  I’m always the confidant,  I’m always the girl on the other end of the phone listening and helping the friend figure out what to do in their life, with their love, with their job.  I take so much pride in being the best co-worker, the best boss, the best friend, the best girlfriend that I forget how to just be Erika.  And if I’m brutally honest with myself here, I’m not quite sure I know who Erika is.

One of the epiphanies I had last year around this time is that “I’m a lover of myself first and foremost and will not tolerate anything other than 100% dedication and devotion.  In return I give myself 100% and am completely dedicated and devoted.”  If I look at who I was in 2009 as a co-worker, boss, friend, girlfriend I forgot the first, and most important part of that equation.  Looking back at last year could I have been happier if I’d remembered my own words?  Should I get them tattooed to my left wrist so I don’t forget it this year?  (That’d be a badass tattoo)

I try not to look back and regret and rather look ahead, remember my mistakes or missteps and try not to repeat them.  This is the great thing about the beginning of a New Year.  You get to start anew, refresh, reboot, power up, move forward taking everything that you learned the previous year (the good and the bad) and make a new beginning.  Yes, I stole those last 4 words from Tracy Chapman.  Her song is in my head this morning and I slept horribly last night.  I was tormented and literally could not find a peaceful sleep because my brain was spinning with all of the missteps of the past year.  Don’t get me wrong, I had a pretty awesome year and I learned a whole lot of shit.  Still, losing myself is not something I ever intended.

I spent the majority of my life lost in other people’s expectations of who I am.  I’m insanely good at molding myself into the person that other people want me to be.  This is one of the main reasons it took me until two years ago to come out not only to myself but to the world as a lesbian.  It took all those years for me to shed the image of myself I wanted to project to protect the people that I love from my true self I thought they would despise.  The old saying that no body is perfect is true.  I’m not perfect and I can’t expect perfection from myself or from others because having that expectation will result in disappointment.  All I can do is to work on me.  Continue to figure out who I am and what makes me happy so that the lives of others around me are improved as well.

Success!

Last night we had a date.  I’m not sure if it was officially a “date”.  We didn’t go out.  We didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.   I’m going to call it a date, though.  We spoke on the phone in the afternoon and I made plans to meet her at her house.  She sounded stressed when we talked last.  I scraped my plans to make a light dinner of fish and salad and opted instead for Chicken Picatta (recipe to be posted sans-picture on my food blog)  I figured something saucy and hearty would be a good comfort for the end of a hard day.  I called to let her know that I would have dinner for her when she got to her place, my only request was that she bring some wine.

When she arrived dinner was ready and we ate and talked.  Talking.  One of the other things we decided we didn’t do enough of.  We talked for real about our days.  Mine was relatively boring, I’ve been working from home for the past week doing the same thing every day.  Her’s was stressful.  She’s working in two different labs for doctors and professors who are stretching her pretty thin, in addition to her own work load, teaching a class, and finishing her Master’s thesis.  She hadn’t eaten much that day and after the second glass of wine and second scoop of mashed root vegetables she started to look more relaxed.  Calm.

We retired to the bedroom, to digest and watch last week’s episode of Top Chef and afterwards fell into a mess of arms and legs before falling asleep satisfied in each other’s arms.  There was sex.  Amazing sex.  The kind of sex you can only have when you’re truly connected to some one.  It was definitely hot, and sometimes the cries of pleasure were interjected with hoots of laughter and girlish giggles.  I love that kind of love-making.  Where it’s sometimes unassuming and then turns into real carnal pleasure and then is tender and kind followed by the rough and tumble.

It’s a good start to our re-connecting and I have the entire weekend off.  We have plans to clear out my storage space-decidedly unsexy- but I may surprise her by taking her to the Museum of Sex or a quiet dinner or a trip to Babeland.  Who knows, we might just make out in the movies-totally retro and completely hot.

Relationships take work

It’s been a while since Mirs and I had a serious relationship talk.  I like to call them Relationship Check Ups.   Not since San Francisco, really.  As we all know, that was a very big talk.  A deal breaker one would say.  Thankfully, that talk went well and the talks after that and the talks after that.  We went our separate ways, found our own apartments, and have been living seemingly happy lives every after ever since.

Not so, really.  It’s definitely refreshing to come home to my own space where I feel like I belonging.  The addition of a feline I named Oscar is another calming factor to living alone but something’s been a little off lately.  Plainly put, the sex in our relationship has dwindled. 

On Sunday we went to our engaged friends new apartment to watch some NBA Basketball.  One of the girls is from Oregon too and has a thing for the Portland Trailblazers, just like my lady.  Her fiance isn’t a crazy sports fanatic but after a few Gin and Tonics (made by me) and some girl talk in their bedroom we all settled down to watch some sports.  Well, that was the intention.  Truth be told, I can’t girl-talk for very long before I start getting antsy.  I mean, I work in fashion so I can talk about clothing and accessories for ever but I really wanted to snuggle on the couch with my lady and watch come basketball.  A few other ladies came over and we ordered some Mexican food from down the street and tried to settle into the sports. 

Once the game ended and we waited for a football game to start some how, the exact reasoning why is still unclear, but we had two books in our laps.  “The Guide to Getting it On”, featuring a cartoon straight couple on the cover entangled in a kiss and “Hand in the Bush-The Fine Art of Vaginal Fisting “.  This cover was a photo of a woman’s torso and a gloved hand in her, well bush.  Both books have horrible illustrations of men and women in various degrees of sketched ecstasy that elicited giggles, laughs, and shrieks of horror from us.  We were no better than teenagers finding their father’s Playboy magazine, pointing and giggling at the pictures.  Seriously, though, in the “Guide to Getting it On” there is a cat in almost every single picture watching its owners get it on!  It’s bizarre.

After flipping through the books and getting ideas.  Ah!  I remember why we were looking at them.  We were discussing Tribadism and Frotteurism and the differences between the two.  Anyway, so that’s how the books came out.  At any length, one of the girls made a remark that she knew a lesbian couple who hadn’t had sex in over 4 years.  I raised my eyebrow (or at least pretended because I can’t actually raise an eyebrow) and glanced at my girl friend.  We hadn’t reached the four year mark-we’ve only been together for a year and a half but it’s been a long enough amount of time for me to be concerned.

We’re both busy, we have over-booked schedules.  We’re never in the same place at the same time.  Blah. Blah. Blah.  For me, sex is a barometer of a relationship.  If the sex starts to dwindle the relationship will follow suit shortly thereafter.  So I brought it up, in classic Erika passive-aggression-on the platform while waiting for the Q Train to leave Ditmas Park.  We talked briefly on the platform and then in bed until the wee hours of the morning.  Before nodding of to sleep we realized a few things.  1.  We’d become complacent in our relationship and 2.  We need to schedule dates together, as awful and unromantic as it sounds.

Then I started to think, after talking to my Former Friend Crush but still Best (Lesbian) Friend, it is only natural in a relationship to sort of go with the flow.  You’re used to one another, you god forbid, take for granted time spent together and instead of using that time to do things as a couple together like movies, or dinner dates, or trips to Babeland you do dishes, laundry, or run to Home Depot for power tools.  That last one would be hot-with a tool belt. 

I can safely answer that yes, we do take one another for granted and that we have become complacent in our relationship.  It’s become routine and dare I say it-mundane?  But that’s not who we are.  That’s not who I am.  I joked that this came on the heels of our mutual 30th birthdays but god help me if my 30s see a spiraling decline in hot multi-orgasmic sex!

So we’ve decided to start taking each other on dates.  She’s doing our first “official date”  I’m not sure where she’s taking me or what we’re going to do but I imagine that it ends beautifully.  I think it is romantic, actually.  I’m not saying it’s going to “spice” up our relationship because overall it’s not bland.  I do think, however, that making time to spend time with one another doing something exciting, fascinating, new, and exciting can’t be bad.  I don’t know how a couple, gay or straight, goes four years without sex.  It’s beyond me.  It makes me think that maybe their relationship can’t be helped.  Maybe they are complacent and comfortable and have just come to expect that there is nothing more to their relationship.  It sounds terribly dull to me, and completely unsexy.

So I’m dating.  This really smart, really kind, incredibly sexy girl.  I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

Going Our Separate Ways

That is correct, my friends, after this weekend Mirs and I will be living in our own apartments.  Hers is a large one bedroom with office and back yard only a few blocks from where we are now.  Mine is a small one bedroom about a 10 minute bike ride (or 30 minute bus ride) away.  Even though it feels a little bittersweet to be sitting in an almost empty apartment filled with boxes it’s great to think about the possibilities the future holds.  I’m sure I’ll feel differently in one week when I’m in my bed all by my lonesome, but for now, I see the possibilities.

For instance, we both have bathtubs in our new places.  This means that if I’m having a rough day or if she’s having a rough day there will always be a tub big enough for two to soak away the worries of the day.  We have our own space.  There’s never a need to walk off steam in the back yard or down the street if there’s a tiff.  Instead, we can politely leave for the evening and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in our individual beds worrying that the other is still upset.  Another great thing is that I can get a cat.  I’ve been combing cat adoption websites looking for a new feline friend to keep me company on lonely nights.  I can also be as messy or as clean as I want.   I can take long showers without fear of using up all the hot water.  I can loo with the door open.  So many things, clearly.

In all seriousness, we’re both a little on the sad side.  It’s been an eventful four months of co-habitation and we’ve definitely learned a lot about one another.  I’ve learned so many things about myself as a partner and friend and I’ve learned so much about her as my partner and friend.  Through the craziness that has been the last few months, we’re in a much better place.  We have a clear understanding of where the other is coming for and for the first time in a while I feel one hundred percent confident in my relationship.  I’ve always been happy but it’s been unsettling, to say the least.

I got the keys to my sweet little pad last week and over the weekend we started moving things in and started cleaning.  Wednesday Mirs gets her keys and we’ll get the majority of her things moved over as well.  After that I’m fending for myself, again, in some respect.  I’d like to say we’ll get on a set schedule where Sundays and Mondays we stay at our own places, Tuesdays and Wednesdays we’re at my place, Thursday and Friday hers and Saturday wherever we land but that’s not logical.  Life can’t be planned down to the hour, the week, the month, the year.  It just happens.  I’ve learned this, over the passed four months.  I’ve learned that things don’t always work out as you plan them to.  You can’t control the situations and the people in those situations.  That said, you can’t leave things to chance-they have to be worked on, tended to; mended, for them to grow into something you couldn’t imagine in the first place.

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.

I’ve been approved!

Last week I went out apartment shopping solo.  I wandered up to a building in Bed-Stuy.  I checked my phone again-I was at the right place.  I was told, via text message, to buzz apartment 3 and Clive would let me in. 

I buzzed 3 and Clive let me in.   He poked his head out of his apartment and told me “Second floor #10”  before shutting his door, reggae music playing in the back ground.  I walked up one flight of stairs and pushed open #10. 

I walked into the smallest living room I’ve ever entered.  It had three small windows all facing the street, a small kitchen (if you can call it that) and small bathroom (with a tub so it’s OK) and a small bedroom with one window that looked out onto a brick wall.  I like to imagine that several decades ago I could’ve seen Manhattan views or even a garden if I looked out that window. 

One bedroom window plus the three in the living room equals four windows.  I walked back into the non-existant kitchen.  Smallest kitchen on the planet with a miniature stove, minimal cabinet space and an oddly placed refridgerator. 

I walked back into the bedroom.  No closet.

I walked back into the bathroom.  Tub.

I walked back into the living room for the third time and a smile widened across my face-I was in love.

I immediately imagined the possiblities.  Clearly, another lock on the door and no place to store my bike.  No closet and endless amounts of clothes.  Small kitchen and a Kitchen Aide Stand Up Mixer as a wet dream and no place to put it.  Couldn’t do dinner parties, unless I got creative. 

No Closet.

Still, all mine.  Just me and a cat.  (Note to self-Find a cat)

I walked out of the apartment, went down to Clive’s to thank him but he didn’t hear me knocking.  I sent an e-mail to my new landlord, Scott.  After a lot of paperwork, a lot of negotiating, and a serious lecture about my excessive spending and lack of saving I’m moving into my very own apartment.

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.