New book ............ what do you think
What is the meaning of love? Is it an never ending quest for a soul mate? How do you know when you have found true love? Somehow somewhere should a bolt of lighting come crashing down? I am still waiting for the proverbial shock to send me through to another dimension. Perhaps we are doomed to a lonely existence? No one to go out with on a Saturday evening, cuddle with on Sunday morning. What is this quest for true love?
Okay next question of course I am in a committed relationship so there is no need to find true love. I am happy and loved more than I ever could be or maybe more than any woman could be loved. So I know you are asking yourself did the bolt of lighting hit? Did the world stop spinning on its axis? Or were you just struck dumb for a moment in time. I can answer all those questions with a resounding no. Not to be downhearted though for I have experienced true love, just not in the conventional way of the movies and storybooks. Thus follows an account of True Love.
In the beginning of another time and place I was searching for some type of salvation. The boy down the street, the bad ass that lived down further, and of course the fat country boy who lived with his grandma across the street from my family. There were attractions in different ways but none seemed to fit just right. It is true that being a lesbian is a kin to the story of goldilocks, first there is the too hard, only to find the next is too soft finally settling into this is just nice. My friends seemed to consist of the type that were either way too brainy or extremely morose and morbid. The latter obviously giving my parents some form of heart failure, to the point where certain Rock bands of the eighties were outlawed in my fathers presence. Still being in the state of constant rebellion I found ways to break those little rules and keep them guessing.
We, my brother and sister, and I grew up in an era where MTV was just hitting the scene with a vengeance. We were born into a society of TV and Computers. IBM and Macintosh were the prominent companies and knowing the Dos program ensured you got hired virtually anywhere. There were school dances, team sports and of course computer labs to lose yourself in regularly. In all of this mayhem that sprung up about me I was lost in another world. That is to say most of the family thought so and I am inclined to agree as I found another way to cope with life in general. I didn’t follow in the footsteps of the silicone valley and their new rise in the market of Telecommunications no, I was too wrapped up in Greek and roman mythology in the eighth grade. In the realm of books I found something , admittedly not what I was looking for but something. My mother grew up in a crazy house and found her salvation in math and English, perhaps that’s a heredity thing. But when I could find no more to read I went to music. Such music I never heard, never mind the contemporary stuff that swept through the youth. Moving from fad to fad I saw Bobby Brown come and go, Sir Mix a Lot, Rob Base, to Bon Jovi. There was a new dance to learn every week and a new dress code every day. Being a family that was not made of the money tree keeping up with changes for being cool was not high on my parents priority list. This caused my brother some misgivings, but again I was caught up in the rhythmic sounds of Boston, the Temptations, and George Jones.
So far from the tastes of my peers that fitting in just didn’t happen. Again faced with the “not cool group”, but of course I wasn’t morbid enough for the “loner gang” and the Jocks well I didn’t have much talent there either. I did find something that did interest me, Music. The arts in general caught my attention but there is the ever present practical side of my father telling me that art and writing were not going to pay the bills. I played in the school band for 9 years. Between concert and Marching Band I learned a lot about types of music and keeping a beat. Desperate to fit in with some crowd I assumed that I would know how to dance. After all I did play music quite well, I was in honor band. That does qualify me to have rhythm right?
I was sorely disappointed at the next school dance when I was laughed at by a group of kids for tapping my feet and swaying to “I’ll be there for you” by Jon Bon Jovi. That ended my dancing career rather quickly, but I am a tarus which means I needed to be shown again that I was in capable of getting in a groove. That was in high school when I was sure after practicing for a week that I could do the “Humpty Hump” dance.
Laughed and pointed at again, that did it I was a wallflower for the rest of that dance. I then decided that I was not going to support anymore of these functions again.
Exactly what is it about a group of people who stand in a huddle and point and laugh at you, does this automatically make them in the right? I mean really the did it first so they must have some really good reason for making me feel about as tall as a pile of cow shit. If I had a time machine I would go back and walk up to them, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice that you were pointing and laughing at me. There wouldn’t happen to be a credible reason would there? Or is it that you are too scared to get out there and dance yourself that making fun of me is a form of entertainment? Perhaps you should really consider how you are hurting my feelings, and traumatic experience this will create for me in the future.” Yeah I would of said that. Who am I kidding? If I had a time machine I would go back and bitch slap all of them and then really start dancing . (because I would also have the magic elixir that gave me the power of boogie.) Okay so we can’t go back in time, I know. That’s what some idiot invented High School reunions for, right? So all the ugly, dork kids can go back with their millions of dollars and model girlfriends, of course they could buy new faces and drive the newest edition of any car just to spend three hours still trying to figure out why they forgot to learn how to dance. Sign me up baby!
There were moments of clarity in this cramped eight years of life that we call adolescence and pre adult. They kept me searching , for that elusive yet all knowing formula of just who in hell I really was. I remember my English teacher from the eight grade, we all had one right? Miss. Mohan. She was about five feet with dark hair and always wore turtle necks and long skirts. She always encouraged my writing but couldn’t seem to stop staring at the boy who called himself my boyfriend. I don’t really know how we ended up being a couple. First we were talking and walking to classes together and then in a week the group all huddled up and pointed at us. I think they wanted to see us kiss. Well what do we do when we encounter peer pressure ladies? Yep I did it, kissed a boy for the first time. All I can tell you is @#$#@ and he $#@#% used his $#%#%$$ and Oh my #%$$% god. That relationship lasted about another day. So where do you learn the nuances of kissing? I assumed it would be from watching your own parents kiss or maybe the porn movies they showed my brother and I ? That’s a scary thought. Really, there should be some kind of class with dummys. Just like CPR class, girls on one side and boys on the other, pick your favorite dummy and try the different type of kisses there are available. Your instructor would have his/her Dummy at the front of the class and would show each type of kiss and the wrong way to approach, etc. Sex education is in need of a serious overhaul in this country. Luckliy, I would be doomed/relieved to not having another boyfriend until I was a senior in high school.
I must interject into our story here, to tell you that my mother was the queen of sex education. Not only did her and dad make sure we knew what a porno was she also got out the Encyclopedia. I had picture diagrams to study and reading to do. She talked about inappropriate touching and of course birth control, periods. I love her, not many parents can say they sat down with pictures and pointed out the parts to their children. So I was a sexually knowledgeable person, if you needed to know how babies were made and what the parts were called. No I got most of my education the same most of us did, the Penthouse Magazines hidden in my parents dresser, your friends who were “experienced” and of course trial and error.
You know the song don’t you? “Night Moves” by Bob Segar and The Silver Bullet Band.
“I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds. Dadada…. She was a dark haired beauty with points all her own. Settin way up firm and high….”
Yeah, Music it moves me and takes me back to memories forgotten. Now reading Penthouse Forum was not the most accurate sex education you can give a girl, but it didn’t occur to me that the stories involving two women or two women and a man were the ones I tended to reread. No Didn’t pick up on that one, I just figured the right guy was somewhere else. Turns out he needed tits. Maybe a detachable penis. Longer hair and curves that seemed to fit just right. Yeah that’s him. My perfect guy. Could you change your name to Jo? Or maybe Mary?
I did learn the term Faggot from my father, ironically enough it was involving a temporary teacher who gave me a C on a paper that I wrote on Alcoholism. Now I did spend a lot of time on this paper even had it in one of those shiny plastic paper presentations. My dad helped to proof it and showed me where to find stuff on the effects of Alcoholism. I wrote about scirosis of the liver and drinking to excess. I guess the teacher felt that something was missing, I would learn later that Alcoholism is a disease. My own drinking would lead to me finding a number of books on alcohol. Lots of study material. Naturally my father wanted to know how I faired on this paper. He was a might disappointed with my C. After reading what the teacher wrote he proceeded to go off. Obviously since the teacher was grading my paper and having his own experience with alcoholism expected something more, but in my father’s eyes he was a faggot. So I figured it was my duty to relay the message. I was rather upset with my C too, and damn this teacher. I admit it, a member of the Rainbow community stood up in front of 28 students in my history class and called this man a faggot. I will never be able to make restitution for this personally but I would like to state now that I was wrong. He wasn’t a Faggot for giving me a C. The correct term is Gay.
Okay next question of course I am in a committed relationship so there is no need to find true love. I am happy and loved more than I ever could be or maybe more than any woman could be loved. So I know you are asking yourself did the bolt of lighting hit? Did the world stop spinning on its axis? Or were you just struck dumb for a moment in time. I can answer all those questions with a resounding no. Not to be downhearted though for I have experienced true love, just not in the conventional way of the movies and storybooks. Thus follows an account of True Love.
In the beginning of another time and place I was searching for some type of salvation. The boy down the street, the bad ass that lived down further, and of course the fat country boy who lived with his grandma across the street from my family. There were attractions in different ways but none seemed to fit just right. It is true that being a lesbian is a kin to the story of goldilocks, first there is the too hard, only to find the next is too soft finally settling into this is just nice. My friends seemed to consist of the type that were either way too brainy or extremely morose and morbid. The latter obviously giving my parents some form of heart failure, to the point where certain Rock bands of the eighties were outlawed in my fathers presence. Still being in the state of constant rebellion I found ways to break those little rules and keep them guessing.
We, my brother and sister, and I grew up in an era where MTV was just hitting the scene with a vengeance. We were born into a society of TV and Computers. IBM and Macintosh were the prominent companies and knowing the Dos program ensured you got hired virtually anywhere. There were school dances, team sports and of course computer labs to lose yourself in regularly. In all of this mayhem that sprung up about me I was lost in another world. That is to say most of the family thought so and I am inclined to agree as I found another way to cope with life in general. I didn’t follow in the footsteps of the silicone valley and their new rise in the market of Telecommunications no, I was too wrapped up in Greek and roman mythology in the eighth grade. In the realm of books I found something , admittedly not what I was looking for but something. My mother grew up in a crazy house and found her salvation in math and English, perhaps that’s a heredity thing. But when I could find no more to read I went to music. Such music I never heard, never mind the contemporary stuff that swept through the youth. Moving from fad to fad I saw Bobby Brown come and go, Sir Mix a Lot, Rob Base, to Bon Jovi. There was a new dance to learn every week and a new dress code every day. Being a family that was not made of the money tree keeping up with changes for being cool was not high on my parents priority list. This caused my brother some misgivings, but again I was caught up in the rhythmic sounds of Boston, the Temptations, and George Jones.
So far from the tastes of my peers that fitting in just didn’t happen. Again faced with the “not cool group”, but of course I wasn’t morbid enough for the “loner gang” and the Jocks well I didn’t have much talent there either. I did find something that did interest me, Music. The arts in general caught my attention but there is the ever present practical side of my father telling me that art and writing were not going to pay the bills. I played in the school band for 9 years. Between concert and Marching Band I learned a lot about types of music and keeping a beat. Desperate to fit in with some crowd I assumed that I would know how to dance. After all I did play music quite well, I was in honor band. That does qualify me to have rhythm right?
I was sorely disappointed at the next school dance when I was laughed at by a group of kids for tapping my feet and swaying to “I’ll be there for you” by Jon Bon Jovi. That ended my dancing career rather quickly, but I am a tarus which means I needed to be shown again that I was in capable of getting in a groove. That was in high school when I was sure after practicing for a week that I could do the “Humpty Hump” dance.
Laughed and pointed at again, that did it I was a wallflower for the rest of that dance. I then decided that I was not going to support anymore of these functions again.
Exactly what is it about a group of people who stand in a huddle and point and laugh at you, does this automatically make them in the right? I mean really the did it first so they must have some really good reason for making me feel about as tall as a pile of cow shit. If I had a time machine I would go back and walk up to them, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice that you were pointing and laughing at me. There wouldn’t happen to be a credible reason would there? Or is it that you are too scared to get out there and dance yourself that making fun of me is a form of entertainment? Perhaps you should really consider how you are hurting my feelings, and traumatic experience this will create for me in the future.” Yeah I would of said that. Who am I kidding? If I had a time machine I would go back and bitch slap all of them and then really start dancing . (because I would also have the magic elixir that gave me the power of boogie.) Okay so we can’t go back in time, I know. That’s what some idiot invented High School reunions for, right? So all the ugly, dork kids can go back with their millions of dollars and model girlfriends, of course they could buy new faces and drive the newest edition of any car just to spend three hours still trying to figure out why they forgot to learn how to dance. Sign me up baby!
There were moments of clarity in this cramped eight years of life that we call adolescence and pre adult. They kept me searching , for that elusive yet all knowing formula of just who in hell I really was. I remember my English teacher from the eight grade, we all had one right? Miss. Mohan. She was about five feet with dark hair and always wore turtle necks and long skirts. She always encouraged my writing but couldn’t seem to stop staring at the boy who called himself my boyfriend. I don’t really know how we ended up being a couple. First we were talking and walking to classes together and then in a week the group all huddled up and pointed at us. I think they wanted to see us kiss. Well what do we do when we encounter peer pressure ladies? Yep I did it, kissed a boy for the first time. All I can tell you is @#$#@ and he $#@#% used his $#%#%$$ and Oh my #%$$% god. That relationship lasted about another day. So where do you learn the nuances of kissing? I assumed it would be from watching your own parents kiss or maybe the porn movies they showed my brother and I ? That’s a scary thought. Really, there should be some kind of class with dummys. Just like CPR class, girls on one side and boys on the other, pick your favorite dummy and try the different type of kisses there are available. Your instructor would have his/her Dummy at the front of the class and would show each type of kiss and the wrong way to approach, etc. Sex education is in need of a serious overhaul in this country. Luckliy, I would be doomed/relieved to not having another boyfriend until I was a senior in high school.
I must interject into our story here, to tell you that my mother was the queen of sex education. Not only did her and dad make sure we knew what a porno was she also got out the Encyclopedia. I had picture diagrams to study and reading to do. She talked about inappropriate touching and of course birth control, periods. I love her, not many parents can say they sat down with pictures and pointed out the parts to their children. So I was a sexually knowledgeable person, if you needed to know how babies were made and what the parts were called. No I got most of my education the same most of us did, the Penthouse Magazines hidden in my parents dresser, your friends who were “experienced” and of course trial and error.
You know the song don’t you? “Night Moves” by Bob Segar and The Silver Bullet Band.
“I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds. Dadada…. She was a dark haired beauty with points all her own. Settin way up firm and high….”
Yeah, Music it moves me and takes me back to memories forgotten. Now reading Penthouse Forum was not the most accurate sex education you can give a girl, but it didn’t occur to me that the stories involving two women or two women and a man were the ones I tended to reread. No Didn’t pick up on that one, I just figured the right guy was somewhere else. Turns out he needed tits. Maybe a detachable penis. Longer hair and curves that seemed to fit just right. Yeah that’s him. My perfect guy. Could you change your name to Jo? Or maybe Mary?
I did learn the term Faggot from my father, ironically enough it was involving a temporary teacher who gave me a C on a paper that I wrote on Alcoholism. Now I did spend a lot of time on this paper even had it in one of those shiny plastic paper presentations. My dad helped to proof it and showed me where to find stuff on the effects of Alcoholism. I wrote about scirosis of the liver and drinking to excess. I guess the teacher felt that something was missing, I would learn later that Alcoholism is a disease. My own drinking would lead to me finding a number of books on alcohol. Lots of study material. Naturally my father wanted to know how I faired on this paper. He was a might disappointed with my C. After reading what the teacher wrote he proceeded to go off. Obviously since the teacher was grading my paper and having his own experience with alcoholism expected something more, but in my father’s eyes he was a faggot. So I figured it was my duty to relay the message. I was rather upset with my C too, and damn this teacher. I admit it, a member of the Rainbow community stood up in front of 28 students in my history class and called this man a faggot. I will never be able to make restitution for this personally but I would like to state now that I was wrong. He wasn’t a Faggot for giving me a C. The correct term is Gay.
posted by rocdragon4353 at 10:30 PM
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