Inhale and Exhale

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Guest post by Devin.

About 40 million adults in the United States are affected by anxiety disorders. I’m one of them. I suffer from depression and anxiety, and personally, I feel my anxiety is more damaging. Anxiety can take many forms, but for me it flares up most when I am over-stimulated or doing something so far outside of my comfort zone that the potential benefits do not outweigh my fear. Usually, my anxiety is triggered the most when I have time to overthink.

If I can dive into something without thinking about it, I am fine. I have a pretty successful auto-pilot and a strong poker face, so I can handle most think-on-your-feet situations. But it drains me. I only have so much battery power. And social interactions and fear-conquering come at a high price for me.

In fact, I am still recharging from a recent battery-draining experience. As I write this, it has been 3 days since I started conquering a new fear. Continue reading “Inhale and Exhale” →

A is for Acronym

Published on by Sharon2 Comments

Not long ago, I got into an argument on the internet.

Revolutionary, I know. But for me, it’s fairly unusual these days. As much as I love to use my words, and as much as my debate team history would imply I love arguing, I’ve never been good at comment wars. Maybe it’s something about the unending nature of arguing on the internet – the constant “ping” to let you know it’s still happening, and may continue in perpetuity. Or maybe it’s the stories from this election cycle of women being harassed for their political opinions on Twitter. Whatever the reason, when I start replying to a “hot topic,” I usually stop myself and backspace the hell out.

So when I found myself engaging in this particular debate, I surprised myself – especially given that the issue was one I’d never considered one of my “pet” topics.

The discourse centered around the LGBTQIA acronym, and whether it should be expanded. The discussion had been started by some straight allies who were genuinely concerned that they were using it incorrectly, that they hadn’t added enough letters, and that they’d be called out on it. Their concern was genuine, and palpable. They had the best of intentions, and were debating with one another what the current consensus might be among the gay community – and whether they were being bad allies if they weren’t sure what all the letters stood for.

Then, someone (who happened to be a straight man) popped into the conversation and said “Hey! I just heard about this great new version of the acronym! QUILTBAG! Isn’t it amazing! I like it a lot because the ‘quilt’ image evokes things like the AIDS quilt, and also it’s easy to remember. I think we should all start using it!” Continue reading “A is for Acronym” →

Terms and Conditions Apply: Dating as an Asexual

Published on by Anonymous3 Comments

Our first Anonymous post.

I don’t think my parents ever gave me “the talk.” You know, the one where you’re kind of squirmy, they’re kind of sweaty, and neither of you want to be there? The talk about… sex. This meant my knowledge and understanding of sex came from what I read in books, saw in movies, and heard from older kids in school.

In the seventh grade, I borrowed the book Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist from the school library. As any good Christian 12-year-old would be, I was slightly taken aback by all the swearing and sex talk. But as much as my rebellious spirit found it exciting to read the “F” word over and over, I was a little disappointed by the fact that I couldn’t actually relate to the horniness of either of the characters. I thought to myself, “I must just be too young.”

Fast forward a few years to the tenth grade. The “F” word, in its stout and aggressive beauty, had become an essential part of my casual vocabulary. At some point in the summer between junior high and high school, the desire to be cool seeps its way into every kid’s mind. Regardless of what “cool” meant to you, you wanted to be cool. To me, that meant going to parties. I didn’t really get invited to any, but I heard stories of sex in tents and making out in closets and I thought to myself, “I must just be too ugly.”

Fast forward to my graduating year, where I finally realized that even if I had been invited to parties, I probably would not have wanted to “F” word in a tent or make out in a closet with a different classmate each week. It occurred to me that the horniness I couldn’t relate to at age 12 was still foreign to me at age 18. Someone then showed me a definition of asexuality and I thought to myself, “Oh. That’s what it is.”

I will not include a definition of asexuality with this article because it is different for everyone. For me, asexuality means I don’t have any desire for sexual intercourse. I have never masturbated nor have I ever felt the need or desire to. I get no pleasure thinking about sexual acts, and I have difficulty picturing myself engaging in them. In a world where sex is becoming less and less taboo, I am finding it incredibly necessary to be open about my asexuality, especially with my partner.

For privacy’s sake, I will call him Steve. I met Steve on OkCupid in my last year of high school. I had received my diploma early on and had no classes left and no job during the second semester, leaving my social and romantic life wide open. I talked to a dozen other guys on various apps before meeting Steve, none of which seemed to be interested in anything other than taking my virginity. At that point in my life, I was only open about my asexuality with one other person, and the topic of sex made me very uncomfortable.

The first few dates with Steve went really well, and I knew that if I wanted to continue my relationship with him, I would need to discuss my asexuality with him. A few weeks into getting to know him, I sat him down and explained to him what asexuality meant to me and how it would impact our relationship. I remember saying something along the lines of, “I probably will never have sex with you. I have no interest in having sex with you, the thought of it kind of makes me sick.” I probably said it in a much nicer way, though, because he took it really well. So well, in fact, that he asked me permission to hug me the first time we hugged because he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable.

My experience with Steve has been nothing but fantastic, and I feel extremely fortunate to have someone who cares so deeply about me that they are willing to sacrifice an extremely pleasant physical and human experience in order to be with me, but I would be lying to you if I said that two years in, we still haven’t had sex. While I still identify as being asexual, the way it presents itself has seriously changed over the course of my relationship. I still find no pleasure in sexual acts themselves, but I find pleasure in the pleasure they bring my partner.

On a good day, sex in all shapes and forms doesn’t disgust me, and I can set aside my disinterest in the act itself and focus on what I’m bringing to Steve. On a regular day, intercourse is out of the question, but I am indifferent when discussing it. On a bad day, I don’t want to be seen naked. I don’t want to talk about sex, and I absolutely don’t want to feel his boner when we’re cuddling. This unpredictability can be disappointing and frustrating but we have been able to handle it very well simply by communicating.

Steve will never instigate anything without asking permission. This is important regardless of my asexuality because it’s an exercise in consent. He respects my decision no matter his mood, and if it’s a “no,” he doesn’t bring it up again. He always reminds me that I don’t owe him anything, and his favourite line is “Even if we never had sex ever again I would still be happy just because I’m with you.” The wonderful thing is that I believe him.

Throughout our relationship and from its very beginning, we established a high standard of communication, both emotionally and sexually. If I had not told him from the start that I was asexual, I’m not sure we would be as committed and comfortable as we are now. I would probably always be a little bit scared that he would want sex on a bad day and that I would have to give it to him because I never told him it terrified me. If I hadn’t made my verbal consent mandatory regardless of the signals I was sending him, I would probably feel taken advantage of on regular days. And on good days, I would feel guilty for showing him that I sometimes enjoy it, because he would see that and think it’s always okay.

I don’t want to make it seem like I’m encouraging optional consent. Consent is not optional. What I’m saying is that it is important to not feel ashamed by your lack of sex drive, or your disgust towards intercourse, or your sudden hyper-sexuality. It is important to bring these things up so that everyone involved knows exactly what they are getting into. Most of all, don’t settle. If you feel you’re getting into a relationship where the other(s) involved are not understanding of your asexuality, get out. There are people who get it, and there are people who will love you no matter how you feel that day. You should not feel limited to dating only other asexuals because you think they are the only ones who will understand you.

To the Steves out there who are patient and kind and willing to masturbate quietly on their own because their partner just isn’t feeling it that day, thank you. Your understanding means everything to us. Keep listening, and keep asking. You’re doing it right.

To the aces out there who are still looking for a Steve, you’ll find one. You are not weird, there’s nothing wrong with you, and you have every right to feel the way you do on any given day.

The conversation about sex needs to continue. My asexuality is different than yours, guaranteed. So don’t be afraid to talk about it.

Author

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How Kelly Clarkson Made Me Gay

Published on by Mo1 Comment

(Originally posted on August 27, 2012 at I Dig Your Girlfriend.)

10 years ago, in the summer of 2002, I started watching a new reality show called American Idol. I was somewhat late to the game; on the night I first tuned in, the preliminary “loser” rounds were over and we were down to the top eight finalists.

The production values were laughably low-budget back then. They had canned background music and a tiny octagonal stage facing a tiny audience. At the centre of this modest octagon stood a short, curvy girl with a microphone. She was wearing a necktie and what I believe is referred to as a trilby hat, and she was singing Aretha Franklin’s Natural Woman. It was 60’s Night.

I was recording the show (on VHS!) as I watched, because I was expecting a phone call and I didn’t want to miss any of the songs. I took my call, and then resumed the episode where I had left off. Once I reached the end, I hit ‘rewind’ and watched Kelly’s song again. I watched it a few times, actually, and I became thoroughly confused with myself.

Why was I re-watching this? What was it about this performance? What was it about this girl? How could I rationalize keeping this instead of taping over it? Continue reading “How Kelly Clarkson Made Me Gay” →

#CPR – Where the Buffalo Roam

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Guest post by Devin.

Tumble weeds, cowboys, and a two million year old supervolcano that is overdue for an eruption, oh my. This is where I was born; the heart of the cowboy state. Well, almost. I’m directly from Casper, which is just a little East of the middle of the state, but an A for effort right?

I would be lying if I said part of my heart doesn’t still long for Wyoming. Nothing can compare to that wide open sky. The sunsets are phenomenal. But the people, oh man. While the state has, sporadically, done liberal things, it is still considered conservative in most ways. The state’s governor, two senators and the (only) house delegation are all Republican.

I mean let’s get to the elephant in the room: Matthew Shepard. I was living in Wyoming when that happened. I was young and didn’t hear about it at the time; I’m sure due to the graphic nature of the crime. But I was less than 200 miles from him. I know that is still quite a ways away and I didn’t know him, but realizing this fact; realizing that this horrific, brutal crime was committed in the same state that I considered home, was enough to make me sick. Continue reading “#CPR – Where the Buffalo Roam” →

No Monsters Here

Published on by Kate1 Comment

Mothers-in-law are seemingly the stuff of nightmares: they are the antagonists of horror stories told between friends and coworkers, and as villains in pop-culture, right up there with evil step-mothers.

I’ve had my share of horror stories concerning the parents (especially mothers) of people I’ve dated. I dated a Filipino guy in high school, and his mother would lecture him – right in front of me – about how he should be dating a nice, Catholic, Asian girl. I am neither Catholic nor Asian. It was about as awkward as you’d expect.

My only multi-year relationship (aside from my wife) was with a Canadian-Indian son of immigrant parents. His parents refused to acknowledge me once we started dating, and for two and a half years I was not allowed at his house. He would never tell them when he was with me. His parents frequently pressured him to not only leave me, but also tried setting him up with other women.

This was all before I came out – imagine the reaction if I had been openly queer, too! So it only makes sense that wading into the queer community’s dating pool was a little intimidating, especially concerning parents of prospective partners. Continue reading “No Monsters Here” →

Evolution of an Orientation

Published on by Guest Author1 Comment

Guest post by Devin.

Both of my parents are artists. My dad is an illustrator and my mom a photographer, and they were married for the entirety of my childhood. Growing up I visited my fair share of museums. I loved them. They were so quiet and serene. The modern art exhibits were by far my favorites. I loved how different they all were; the styles were easy to differentiate and every one was beautiful. But it was the classical art that fascinated me. How open they were with their bodies, how the naked body was equated with innocence and purity. I had never seen the human form celebrated until I discovered them. Showing skin was at the time, and still is, thought of as sexual and vulgar.

I remember staring up at The Birth of Venus at six or seven years old and noticing how different she was compared to images of beauty of the day. Britney Spears and Jennifer Lopez couldn’t hold a candle to Venus in my mind.

They say hindsight is 20/20 right? Maybe someone could have pieced together the clues and realized I was of the queer variety long ago, but probably not. Most of my queer cues happened when I was alone, doing things and not knowing why. Take, for instance, the time when I got new Barbie dolls and immediately stripped them of their clothes. I was entranced by the curves and smoothness of them. Innocent child curiosity. Continue reading “Evolution of an Orientation” →

Bad Lesbian Advice

Published on by Mo3 Comments

I was a late bloomer in the romance department. For that, we can blame my introverted nature, or my low self-esteem, or maybe just my lack of prospects. When I was 22, I left my rural homeland and moved to a big city full of strangers. I moved because, deep down, I had a sneaking suspicion that I might not be the only lesbian in the world.

Incredibly, the hordes of queer ladies I had hoped to be welcomed by failed to materialize. Day after day I would walk out my door to go to work, and I would fail to find the perfect woman waiting for me on my doorstep, or at my bus stop, or draped across my desk.

I didn’t get it. I was here, I was queer, and my city was like “so what?”

I spent my twenties in a sort of passive denial. I kept hoping that I would meet my soulmate organically, while living my ordinary life. Years passed, and friends kept insisting that I had to be proactive if I wanted to meet women. But taking good advice wasn’t exactly my “thing” back then. Instead, I opted for falling in love with straight friends, over and over again, repeatedly breaking my own heart. This proved super effective and healthy.

I finally gave in and joined a queer social group at the age of 31, in the hopes of making queer friends and finding women to date. This very straightforward approach proved incredibly successful (hi, Kate!) but the process wasn’t without its hiccups. As I immersed myself in the metaphorical hot tub of the gay lady community, I was given several pieces of advice from fellow lesbians that made me raise a roughly hewn eyebrow (or two):

SUGGESTION 1: STEER CLEAR OF BISEXUAL WOMEN

On the surface, the queer community is all about inclusiveness. Just look at our acronym! My goal was to meet gay ladies, but as I got to know the people in my women’s group, I quickly realized that calling everyone a “lesbian” was inaccurate. We had bisexuals, and trans women, and gender non-conforming folks. There was even a cis straight woman!

We met twice a month. Sometimes the room was bursting at the seams with women, and other nights there were only a handful of us. I noticed that, when the group was small enough, when it was lesbian enough, people were less careful with their words.

This group was meant to be a safe space for women to speak openly. That’s harder than it sounds. You can let people speak their minds without judgment, or you can allow everyone a space to feel safe and respected. But doing both can be tricky. And so I was warned away from dating bisexual women.

I heard all the old, tired stereotypes. Bisexual women aren’t trustworthy. They won’t commit. They’re just experimenting. You’ll only get hurt. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

The lesbians spouting this garbage assured me that they knew what they were talking about because they had experience with bisexual women. As if that allowed them to speak about an entire group of people. If that’s any different from saying “don’t date black chicks,” I fail to see the distinction.

Verdict: I ignored Suggestion 1.

SUGGESTION 2: HIT IT AND QUIT IT

Throughout the course of several meetings, I opened up about the fact that I was still a virgin at age 31. Since literally everyone else in the group had more experience with women than I did, I deferred to their knowledge base. I quickly became their “project,” which made me slightly uneasy. But I knew I would have to stretch out of my comfort zone if I wanted to achieve my goal of lady-loving, so I kept my peace and told myself humility was a good thing.

I had made a new friend during the Pride Parade. She was smart, and sensitive, and a good listener. We hung out a lot, and over time I came to realize that she had feelings for me. How simple things would have been if I’d felt the same way back! But the attraction just wasn’t there.

Some of my group mates believed that my only obstacle to getting some action was the fact that no one was expressing interest. They were delighted to discover that there was someone out there who wanted me. On two separate occasions, I was advised to “hit it and quit it” with this chick.

I had no desire to have sex with someone I wasn’t attracted to, especially someone who had feelings for me. It seemed mean, and I was pretty sure it would make me feel worse instead of better.

Verdict: I ignored Suggestion 2.

SUGGESTION 3: BE MORE MASCULINE

Once I told the group that I was interested in women that were somewhat girly/feminine, I was told that I had to dress and behave a certain way in order to get anyone to date me.  This included changing my wardrobe to more masculine clothing, being more assertive, paying for everything, and learning how to drive.  (Oh, and also buying a car to drive.)

I didn’t feel butch; at least, not the idea of butch I had grown up with. But maybe I was wrong. I’ve always been quick to assume others know better than me in situations just like this. I was the novice lesbian, after all. What did I know?

So I listened as they told me I was meant to dress dapper, and pick my date up, and pay for dinner. Essentially, I was expected to “be the man.” This sounded very weird to me. Weren’t we a bunch of feminists raging against the patriarchy? Why were we including men in our lesbian activities?

Verdict: I dressed butch for a friend’s wedding, and I looked amazing. My behaviour, however, remained neutral.

SUGGESTION 4: BE MORE FEMININE

While half the group was telling me to embrace the butch aesthetic, the other half was insisting that I would never attract anyone unless I showed more skin.  Low-cut blouses and/or tank tops were suggested as a way to draw attention to my woman-curves.  Emphasize the goods, they said. Make sure people know they’re up for grabs (so to speak).  And would it kill you to put on a little make-up?  Can you at least look like you’re making an effort?

Obviously, I wanted date prospects to know that I cared about looking good for them. But I struggled with having the first idea how to do that.

I was accustomed to wearing unisex t-shirts, sweaters and hoodies. I shied away from anything hinting at cleavage, which left my top options (toptions!) pretty limited. The ladies assured me that showing a little bit of cleave would be flattering, and wouldn’t always be terrifying; it was something I would get used to and would help me gain confidence about my body.

I wanted to be seen as attractive. But it was starting to feel like the only way I could achieve that sort of support was through doing exactly as I was told. Would I have to follow someone else’s directions to the tee if I ever wanted to attract a lady? Wouldn’t that require an impossible level of upkeep?

I would have felt much more comfortable having someone interested in me based on the clothes I would wear everyday, or more to the point, based on things that had nothing to do with what I was wearing. I didn’t want to have to try so hard; not at this. I was willing to put infinite effort in when it came to sensitivity, and understanding, and making my woman laugh. But I was never going to be that girl who spent two hours “putting my look together.” Just, no.

Verdict: I bought a few tank tops that I rarely wear outside of the house.

SUGGESTION 5: SURPRISE THAT SPECIAL SOMEONE WITH SEXUAL ASSAULT!

I eventually started dating a woman (hi, Kate!) but this didn’t stop the all-knowing lesbians from offering tips. Now, instead of “how to get a woman” advice, I was getting “how to satisfy a woman” advice. I figured the ladies probably knew their shit in this regard, so I was all ears. At first.

Some of it was common sense. Some of it was logistics. Most of it I already knew. Still, I listened intently as the ladies described their sexual experiences and suggested fun things I might like to try with a partner.

Then one day, in a conspiratorial whisper, one of them suggested I wake my girlfriend up in the morning by inserting a finger into her.  Because she can’t say no if she’s not awake, amirite, ladies?

Verdict: *disgusted shudder*

The lesson I took away from all of this was that, in many ways, this group of lesbians was clinging to outdated stereotypes harder than the traditional-minded straight folk they were meant to be a haven from.  The importance of filling certain roles, of dismissing certain groups outright, of refusing to be myself, felt completely counter to what I expected from a queer safe space. I also found it decidedly un-feminist to suggest rape as a way of being “playful” in bed.

I had walked into that women’s group expecting to learn a few things, and I did. I learned that opinions can vary widely, even among lesbians. I learned that having romantic experience with women doesn’t make you an expert on them. I learned that even virgins know a few things.

People love to give advice. More often than not, they give it with the best of intentions, but that doesn’t mean you have to take it. Your inner voice matters, and you shouldn’t do anything that doesn’t feel right to you. Go with your instincts. You’ll do ok.

Trust me. I’m a lesbian.

Author

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CLEXA: The Best Ship That Ever Shipped

Published on by Kate2 Comments

Arrr ye matey, tharr be spoilers ahead!

A quick recap:

It’s been 97 years since a planet-wide nuclear war. A very small percentage of humanity escaped into space, and has since been biding time in The Ark, a space station orbiting post-apocalypse earth. It is ruled with the iron fist of the democratically elected chancellor, and any rule breakers above the age of 18 are “floated” – sent out an air lock to their death, floating into frozen space. Under-age rule breakers are kept confined, awaiting a retrial on their 18th birthday, when they will either rejoin The Ark’s society, or be floated.

The air starts running out on The Ark. Dramatic, drastic measures are taken but little time is gained for the inhabitants of The Ark. There proves to be a chance that Earth is becoming habitable again, so the decision is made to send the juvenile delinquents down to Earth as an experiment. With futuristic FitBits locked to their wrists, 100 good-looking teens are shot down to Earth. The bracelets let The Ark know how their bodies react to the climate – and radiation – on Earth.

No surprise, it turns out to be habitable. The JDs get all Lord of the Flies and a primitive culture and leadership develops. One of these leaders is Clarke, a relatively goody-two-shoes who tries to maintain her moral high ground, but finds herself quickly devolving with the rest of the no-good kids.

But for a select number of people, it’s been habitable the entire time humanity has been waiting it out in space. In “modern” society’s absence, a primitive, tribal culture has developed. These are the Grounders. The JDs are the Sky People. Season one is basically Sky People vs Grounders. But then the adults from The Ark come to earth, and shit gets real. Continue reading “CLEXA: The Best Ship That Ever Shipped” →