Friday, November 16, 2007

Sunday Top Ten: Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me and My Monkey

Hello, welcome to Friday. How are you? Good, good. This is fo'reals the last post of Secrets Week. JK! I mean: it is. This is the last post of secrets week, but I've got a few left that I want to treat properly, so I'll use 'em next week some time, I'm gonna take a vaycay from talking about you and return to making fun of myself for a few days. If by 2008 you don't see yours in here, it's 'cause you're a complete fuck-up and I can't handle your issues, or because putting up all the Riese-Shrine photos I received would seem a little self-indulgent, and clearly I do not indulge the self. No, it's because it got lost in the shuffle probs, like my favorite green hat and my American Eagle hoodie, both MIA for a few weeks now. And Amber, where's Amber? I don't know. You can email me with YOU ARE RETARDED in the subject line or something, and then re-paste your secret, if you don't see it here by 2008.

So many of my personal friends responded with "You know all my secrets, right? Use whatevs." Really though? I don't know if any of my friends know all my secrets. My journal -- you know, the old fashioned pen-and-ink kind, is The Real Secret vault. There's still so much I'll never tell, never, and I hate that, and that maybe this blog is often a massive overcompensation for the guilt associated with these compromises. Maybe that's why I'm so non-judgmental of others, because I feel I've got the same ugly secrets, I'm just hiding mine better.

Thus, I'm obsessed with various permutations of "truth" [Thus, I la-la-la-loved Closer]... I believe that often ignorance is bliss, but sometimes lying is a cop-out too. I had a friend who checked her boyfriend's email as regularly as she checked her own, and the thing is that chances are you've got a lot of evil thoughts about people you love but you can't tell them everything, I mean, it's not relevant, you gotta filter. If he was cheating on her, there'd be more evidence than one flirtatious email to an old girlfriend she uncovered deviously. That's why I don't read other people's journals or hack into their email (unless they are having affairs with 16-year-old synchronized swimmers using the laptop I gave them) because I've realised that what we choose to communicate with each other often holds an intent even purer than truth.

We do what we do to each other and reveal what we do for a reason, to meet a certain end/intent, and the reason often matters more than our darkest paranoias or theories about it, 'cause that's the truth of what we want even if it's not the truth of how we feel, so it's the only practical thing to say. Does that make sense? Probably not. I'm not sure if I even know what I'm talking about. This is, as you may notice, a pattern with me. What's my secret? I've got that song from Beauty and the Beast stuck in my head, it's making me crazy. Bonjour! Good-day! How is your family? Bonjour! Good-day! How is your wife? But she won't find out it's him 'til Chapter THREEEEEEEE.
"You knew me pretty well but I never let you see my dark side." (Chris Pureka)
What's my Secret? That's sort of a lie up there because I used to read other people's journals almost compulsively. So gross. This was years ago -- high school, I guess ... the last time I read someone else's journal was -- I'll call him "Rick." It was March 2000, he was in the shower, it was right there, right next to the bed, I just had to look. He'd written "I'm "dating" Marie now, she's sooo cute, hot body ... but she's 18, and it shows, she's soooo 18 ..." and I thought, "Wow, I gotta start acting more mature." He was 27. Sidenote, I'm almost 27, and still not mature, so I don't think it was an age thing. I also thought of that line from Sex and the City that Miranda says when a guy calls her sexy: "Smart, yes, sometimes cute, but never sexy. Sexy is the thing I try to get them to see me as after I win them over with my personality," to which Carrie responds: "You win men over with your personality?"

I got addicted to his journal. I needed it to tell me what to do next, until it started telling me about the other women, the ones who were his age and mature, soooooo mature, "real women" who had multiple orgasms like easy and apparently didn't think it was cool to race him to the subway stop or dance on the bar or run drunk through Times Square doing heel-clicks like in Newsies or dress in costume just for fun.

Then he read mine. We shared a locker at work, I trusted him [I don't know why I trusted him, but I did], I kept my journal in the locker.

I didn't know this of course; he just ignored me for about two weeks and then when I asked him why he was being such a consistent douchetard he finally came out with it: "Why do you care how I act to you? Aren't I BORING, anyhow?"

Omg, omg, like, if I'd had ten cheerleaders behind me going "O! M! G!" that wouldn't've been enough. Didn't he know I'm made the Top Ten Reasons I Can't Date Rick because I didn't think I had a choice, and I needed to feel better about my only option?

And also, sidenote, he was kinda boring, as a person, but I was never bored with him. We had fun together, we made each other laugh a lot and he made me feel pretty.

How unfair, I thought, and how unshakeable. I also wondered why he hadn't noted, on that same list, that I didn't like this one navy blue turtleneck t-shirt sweater, because he totally kept wearing it. This is that list, from my journal, May 2000:
Why He's Wrong For Me:
1. Likes Armageddon and other bad movies.
2. Fat-ish.
3. Doesn't like my writing
4. Too old
5. Becoming weird about going out.
6. Doesn't read poetry.
7. Weird attitude about women.
8. Those light jeans and that one blue turtleneck -- HATE IT.
9. Sometimes, he bores me.
10. He only cares about money -- has no true passion in life.
He still made me see Mission to Mars with him, so obviously he saw what he wanted to see anyhow. There's only so much space for the reality we've decided is our own, and sometimes that reality involves Ben Affleck like it or not. Also, hello, Sunday Top Ten, birthing itself right there.
The point is that I learned my lesson. You don't really wanna know what people say about you in their journal, but I'm glad that he had one, for his sake. Ignorance is totes bliss, sometimes ... but lately, I've been thinking maybe it's not. Maybe we'd all be better off if we figured out a way to keep something inside but also to be way more honest than we are. Emotional truths: important. We shouldn't read each other's journals, but maybe there wouldn't be so much to hide if we stopped hiding, like from ourselves. Yeah, I'm totally Angela Chase today.

So .... yeah. Thanks, dudes. For like, sharing your secrets with me. It's awesome to hear that seeing them has helped you in some way, that's the best thing I could ever hope for, seriously.

And thus, here we go, Bonjour! Good day! wWAAAAA.
16. Like O, Like H

Rayanne's home from college for the summer and so she gets a job at Circuit City, where she sells major appliances like overpriced refrigerators, dishwashers and vacuum cleaners. Her coworkers, slightly more dedicated to the fine art of keeping things Cold and Clean, are all older men and she's the only young firm object/body with tits. In fact, she believes her hiring is owed equally to the following three things: good grades, rudimentary understanding of refrigeration technology, C-cups.

Steve works in Car Stereo Install, which's the big-box store equivalent of blue collar. He's tall and good looking, barrel-chested and of black Irish descent, and he ignores Rayanne which naturally intrigues her. He disappears for two weeks and returns with stories of visiting distant relatives in Dublin, and it all sounds so romantic -- Irish cousins he barely knew, taking him in and feeding him, keeping him swimming in whiskey and ale. He returns with gifts for his mother.

He strolls into the aisle between the washers and the dryers and Rayanne nearly forgets everything she knows about defrosters when he approaches her, smiling all dimpled, all white teeth and lips and a strong chin with its rough, black stubble. She wonders what that might feel like on her neck and that wonder flushes her face and skin and her breath is intentional: "Hello there," she says, like a movie star.

"I took a trip to Ireland. I brought this back for you".

English Lavender. She's confused and flattered. They make plans for Friday night. She laughs nervously, her curiosity burns, and doesn't die down when she learns he's a Jesus freak. Really? Not one of THOSE Jesus freaks, okay then, she wants to know how that stubble feels. His hair looks soft.

Yes, she says, let's go for a drive in your car. The stubble is sandpaper, but he's gentle, he can kiss.

The summer hums on. She sells crappy microwaves to single men and giant refrigerators to obese women. She thinks: maybe I won't go back to college. I could just keep working, right? The money's pretty good.

More Friday nights are spent making out in the car: she's virginal and unsure but his hands know things about how to hold hips and her legs know something about how to straddle and respond to the indecent suggestions of his lips.

Stop, he says.

Stop? She says.

We know where this is going, he says.

We do? She says.

Yes, he says. I'm a Christian, Ray.

Right, she thinks. He mustn't be seduced by virginal flesh.

You should be ashamed, he says, almost removing her body from his body like it's a blanket the world just got too warm for.

What the fuck did you just say? She asks. She feels sick. Will he see her again? Can they just slow things down?

His stubble is rough, she wants to claw the flesh from her cheek. Also she's got no plans to accept Jesus as her personal savior. In fact, she's already eyeing the door as she so often does, the door she believes in far stronger than he claims to believe in something holy and designated as such. She doesn't want to meet his mothers. She will build temples to honor her escape. He doesn't seem to understand. Don't call me, she tells him. She's going back to college.

Oh -- and? All her doors swing open, slam shut. I fucking hate English Lavender.

17. I Hear Noises

Kim likes to performance dance to Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights" for an audience. She's pretty sure it makes everyone else uncomfortable and embarrassed for her, but she refuses to give it up up until she wins some kind of gold medal, perhaps earns one million you tube clicks. "Something in this league."
Lisa says she's bisexual and is active in the bisexual-activist community, but the truth is she's really only interested in girls if she's watching her boyfriend fuck them.
Nicole has regular sexual dreams about her brother and has for about a decade. She blames V.C. Andrews.

18. So Jealous

When Elyse and Jordan broke up, she first got depressed and then depressed/completely fucked up and then so jealous when she saw him with another girl that she could barely do anything besides prove as often as possible that she was desired, desirous, desirable.

So she decided to seduce the French exchange teacher. One loaded moment of eye contact can make something into something, just like that. He was maybe 24 and she was 17 so it wasn't too creepy, just totally illegal and weird and "not hot at all."

After it happened, she was over it immediately. Mission accomplished. She went back to being an obsessive tater-tot-eating jealous high school girl but she knew that he was probably racked with guilt and petrified that she'd tell on him.

The next day, he sent her an email that said "Pas de regrets, et toi?" As in: "If I say I don't regret this huge mistake maybe she won't tell on me."

She didn't. She only told one person; me. What's my secret? I actually kept it, among others.

I've been historically bad at this; not at blurting others' secrets to the world, but at establishing secret clauses to secret-keeping. Like; "Well, I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but OBVS I have to tell you, as you're my boyfriend/girlfriend/BFF" or whatever. I got better at not doing this as I got older, but now it's easier to navigate since my friends are all over the place and might not even meet each other [until someone decides for some insane reason to marry me and then obvs all my friends will meet each other because there'll probs be a large party involving copious amounts of drink, and Diet Doctor Pepper for Haviland. Did I mention that I proposed to Haviland at the Time Warner Center? I think I did. However I didn't have a ring, because I'm not a money tree, so, you know, so don't think that if she's not wearing one it means she didn't say "Yes."].

But every now and then you have someone who's secrets you keep like second nature, you just do it, you just can't betray them, and won't, and not because of fear but because it feels just totally wrong to do so, you're not tempted, you're just silent.

19. Time Running

This happened to Sharon when she was 12 and it changed everything more than she's cared to admit. More than she's admitted. She was twelve. She had to stay late at school and therefore walked home alone.

At the top of her road she saw a guy standing near her house. Chances are she would've quickly forgotten this if what followed hadn't happened (He isn't going to rape her, I'm telling you this now because if that's what you're expecting, as I was, then your primary reaction to what follows will be relief that she doesn't get raped, and I don't want relief to be a part of what you feel about it, so I'm saying this now.)

He sees her, he turns, he walks away, and she thinks nothing of it 'til she reaches her back gate and sees him still standing there, smoking. He buts out his cigarette. He pulls down his pants.

She didn't know what to do: he was right in front of her gate. She keeps walking, she puts her head down and walks by in front of him.

This she remembers: in one swift moment, when she's passing and he's got his pants down, poised for something she knows can't possibly be good -- he takes that moment to put his hand on her ass, lean into her ear and say, hot and heavy breathing, "Alright, darling."

Sharon has something in her hand, she swings it, she doesn't know if she hits him or not but the next thing she remembers is turning around and seeing him running up the road. She stands there for a few seconds, takes some deep breaths, and goes inside. She walks right into the living room, looks at her Mom and her Mom asks: 'Are you alright?"

She has a million thoughts but she doesn't know the words for them, doesn't know yet how it feels to be touched when it's not a violation, doesn't know anything, she's twelve, experience, after all, is relative to only one thing which is all other experience, so she says: "Yeah, I'm fine. Work okay?"

Sharon isn't sure why she still hasn't told anyone, and sometimes she wonders if keeping it inside has enabled her to almost forget, like how sometimes she looks back and thinks it may've just been a dream.

She's gotten to the stage where she thinks that people would just think she was being silly if she told them, because "nothing" happened, things could've been so much worse: she was lucky that she was at her back gate and lucky that she had something to swing and lucky that nothing happened. But the thought of what could've happened--what was about to happen--scared her then, and continues to.

Maybe it's not that big of a thing, she reasons, but she was twelve. She thought life was safe. It was the first legitimately frightening thing to ever put it's breath or hands someplace unexpected and also the first frightening thing she's dealt with alone.

20. Clever Meals

Megan: "There's another kind of secret that transcends these innocent, everyday dishonesties. A sort of deception that, if revealed, would change what even your closest friends think of you. It'd change what they'd say when they talked about you, and it wouldn't be something you could apologize for or change. You just have to live with it buried in the coldest recesses of your conscience or risk forever exposing yourself for what you truly are. Most people are lucky enough not to bear this sort of secret. I am not so lucky. You might think this selfish, but that's only because you've ever experienced the darkness i've known for thirteen years. It's with this meager apology that I must let it be known ..."

Megan doesn't like Wes Anderson films. It felt good for her to say it out loud, after she recovered from the shock. It's just not fait. She's exactly the kind of person who oughta unabashedly adore Wes Anderson. She owns a white belt like the other shiny, happy hipsters. ("I'm not wearing it right now, obviously, but I own it.") Why can't she see the brilliance in these movies? All she sees is a science fiction film that's set in reality, "which is retarded."

Yes, she's seen them all: Rushmore, Bottle Rocket, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic. She's done what she could to fill this gaping hole in her hipster delusion -- but she'd like to add, having seen them all, that they're really not any different from one another.

She knows that were her friends to discover her true feelings, she'd be permanently branded as hands down totes uncool, more of a J-Crew chino totesbag toter who puts summer blockbusters on reserve at her local store, she probs couldn't even use Netflix to obtain her uncool movies. She'll just continue to laugh along as grown men run around onscreen in yellow jumpsuits, shooting precious statements of overgrown boyhood into inappropriate situations while a stone-faced Bill Murray extols self-consciously fetishized snibbets of wisdom onto the young scholars in his accidental care.

Unlike Coldplay, Life of Pi, and Grey's Anatomy, the evidence is stacked against her and she's certain the problem "lies unquestionably with me, not West Anderson. Acceptance is the first step. All I can do now is simply pray that my sordid abnormality is never discovered by my friends, relatives," or anyone else she could ever see ever.

[What's my secret? I couldn't even get through Life Aquatic or Bottle Rocket actually, though I loved Royal Tenenabums because Margot Tennenbaum is my hero both for her supreme sense of style (the eyeliner and the blonde hair, the polo shirts) and her deadpan delivery of life's must brutal truths. I'm likely to quote her and you might not even know it if you aren't as dedicated as me. She is everything I ever want to be in life and more and I dedicated the entire winter of 2004 to becoming Margot, even announcing this intention to the entire dinner table when Natalie's parents took us out for her birthday, which didn't go over as well as the other diners plans to get internships and such. Howevs, all his movies are slightly irritating though, just 'cause they're so super precious and like "oh, look at these boys who can't grow up, they are so adorable awww." I liked Rushmore.]


Lozo said...

ok. fine. i'll tell my secret.

i joke all the time about my tiny penis. "oh, look how small it is. it's like a tic tac. only smaller and whiter. ha ha ha." but here's the truth.

i'm pretty big in the pants. my nickname in school was ana. not because of beautiful feminine features, but because of my big penis. you know. anaconda.

that's right. call me!

riese said...

"Ana" is also slang for "anorexic." Just you know ... FYI.

Thanks for sharing, Lozo. This is your first step towards recovery from chronic underestimation of your assets.

If I put it in third person, you'd obviously get to be Jordan Catalano.

loren said...

can i just say that you've made my workday brighter this week, because you have with all the posting. very refreshing, is all i have to say.

dewey said...

This is the first chance I've had to comment all week, been busy with college work and have barely had the chance to read this, let alone comment. But Riese, I feel you’ve done a great job in telling peoples secrets. I’m amazed at how many of these stories I’ve related to, so many could of been my secret.

I also have a bad history of keeping secrets, but generally because the "secrets" people tell me are just gossip about others. I, like most people, enjoy gossip and so sometimes have to tell other people, but I also care about my friends and so if I get told a “secret” about one of them, I have to tell them what I’ve heard, Id hope they’d do the same for me.

However, there are those time when I get told a “real secret”, and I know what has to be kept. If I have to, I can keep anothers secret as well as i keep my own.

asher said...

something in the scene where the Jesus Freak calls the girl Ray made me immediately assume he was a closet case.

oh the randomness of a name change and what it can do to the story.

Allie said...

I love to read people's journals. I don't (anymore), if I don't have permission, but I love secrets. I love to know the darker, personal innerworkings of people's minds. I don't really even get too uncomfortable when people of a certain degree of closeness know my secrets. I'm not an especially judgmental person, and only once did I freak out over a journal entry (when my girlfriend at the time wrote in her journal that she was worried she was preggers, and um, I don't have the sperm-shooting kind of equipment). But yes. I love knowing the secrets about people that they don't really want other people to know. I think, in some twisted way, it's a way I can prove to myself that there is nothing that can make me love a friend less. (I forgave the gilrfriend.)

caitt said...

heyy, I couldn't sleep last night cause I was singing beauty and the beast, really it's out of hand, I've actually been humming it all day, embarassing to say the least..

anyways, I just wanted to say, I'm sure this has been a lot for you, lots of secrets probs equals lots of stress, but as per usual you've done an awesome job of making things that are awful seem strangely beautiful... I dunno, good job, au revoir!

Anonymous said...

Reading your own secret is weird, I read the first few lines and then had to walk away because I couldn’t bring myself to read it, that probs says something about where I'm at with it still.

However I did read it and just wanted to say thanks, its probs good for me to see it written down. But what you say about relief when you read it, that’s probably part of the reason it makes me feel like I cant tell people, I feel people wont care what happened, they'll just be relieved about what didn’t happen. I feel they won’t understand how it actually affected me.

I don’t really know what I’m saying, it makes sense in my head, and yeah I am leaving this as an anonymous comment, why? I don’t know, but I still don’t feel I can put my name to it.

Adam said...

This may just be a psychological fact about me, but even with the disclaimer (and what a great instinct, that), and even with the anonymous comment, and even knowing on an intellectual level that the possible is far more terrible than the actual...that fear and anticipation without closure can be far more devastating than physical anything...

I still can't shake that 'feeling of relief', that at least he didn't, blocking my access to the place you went.

I'm sorry.

amateur said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
in kc said...

It's been nice reading your fiction/nonfiction this week. I agree with your insight that we don't always want to know what others are thinking. I did it once, found out something through looking, and, although I/we worked through it, I'm still marked by it today. I now see that it's better not to know some things.

Jo said...

seriously? Of all the things on that list he took offense at "sometimes he bores me?"

I don't get men.

Crystal said...

You've done an awesome job of this over the week yeah, nice one. The first para was ace.

Re: some replying with "You know all my secrets, right?". I did that, but now I want to take it back, I realise some things you couldn't know. Like I'm scared of turtlenecks. They seriously freak me out.

Lozo said...

i prefer anorexia manning day.

riese said...

loren: you're welcome. Also refreshing is a shoewr.

dewey: Thank you. I know what you mean, re: secrets/gossip/real secrets. Like the show Gossip Girl, I love those books. I don't know what I'm talking about anymore.

asher: Well you know, Ray=Rayanne. I do love Jesus, but I drink a little. You know how it is.

Allie: I used to feel that way too. I like your perspective on it.

Cait: I've got a Bob Saget inspired Sunday Top Ten planned that'll obvs make my head explode, and yours, and everyone we know, and there will be no more stress in the world.

anonymous: Yes, that's why I said what I said -- because I wanted the story to keep it's gravity, and I knew that people would just feel relief instead of approaching what happened from the perspective of this being a traumatic incident important on it's own, regardless of what it wasn't. 'Cause that's not really fair. So yeah, I hope I did okay with that, that's what I hoped to do? Maybe?

Adam: What's up. I think your comment is directed towards anonymous, not me, so I'm just saying, you know, haaay. So you don't think I'm skipping you or something.

in kc: Yeah, I don't think I realised it til someone read my journal, which actually happened once before with similarly devastating results. What I write is so momentary and impulsive, no one should have to deal with it but me.

Jo: I wondered that too. I guess the rest of it he was almost proud of in a way.

Crystal: Luckily I don't own any, so that won't be affecting our friendship.

Lozo: I love you!

other anonymous person said...

re: "sharon" and her secret traumatic moment

i was violated (there are no good words for that) twice. once when i was very young, and once when i was 20. i kept the first incident to myself for a very long time. when i finally told someone, i DID NOT feel relieved. i felt humiliated. i should've kept it to myself. turns out, no one cared.

for whatever it's worth, i envy your ability to keep your secret. but i'm sorry.

ms. malapropos said...

I have a no secrets policy; if it happened, talk about it! I used to have secrets until I realized how destructive they are, how they eat at you, and constantly remind you that they're there, lurking, gnawing. So I'm glad you're telling people's secrets because, perhaps, it'll help people tell there own.

To the anonymous... and the whole this-is-no-a-rape-story preview... I think it's all in the telling. If you get to the action right away "One time when I was twelve there was a naked guy in my yard who tried to grab me," then there's no anticipation, and only the proper, "holy crap, what?" which would allow you to retell and get into it.

Anonymous said...

Just to reasure you, Riese, you did a great job on telling my secret, and there's no maybe about it. Im glad you put the disclaimer in and Im glad you even posted it.


Madey said...

I could barely tell which one was mine, as it was so expertly disguised.

This was a fun game.

dewey said...

This comment is irrelevant, well maybe not, its about a secret.

This is almost the only place I can talk about it, due to the limited number of people that know.

A friend asked if I was lesbian tonight, well sort of, they stuttered as they said it, kinda, "so are you.....?"

You can probably guess my answer, and just incase you can't, it was the opposite to what it should of been. It was a chance, all I had to say was yes,no explaning, just yes.

Whys it so hard, why when im so sure about it do I fail to translate it into words. The fact that she asked, probably means she knows anyway, so what am I scared of.

Also, did i mention, what a good job you've done on the serets? I did? Oh well, I'll just say it again then, well done.

riese said...

ms. malapropos: I'm glad too, that I decided to do this. I mean, I feel like, good this week, like maybe this blog has a point suddenly.

anonymous: Yay! Good, and thank you. I just wanted to make sure that you understood what I was saying, because I know it can be difficult to understand what I'm saying sometimes.

madey: Haha. That's really funny, specifically, for you to say that. Haha.

dewey: I don't know. i think we get into habits, you know, just the way we respond to certain things, it's hard to break those habits, and we worry we'll surprise people and they won't like us, they like our old habits better. I used to often be like, after a conversation like "why the hell did I lie about that?" and I do think that part of this blog for me has been trying to get better at not doing that, and I think I've stopped lying too, and also, consequently, made friends who like me for who I am, obvs, I moved to NYC, city of totes randomized weirdos. And that's weird for me to say, because I've been pretty unapolagetic about who I am and what I believe in since I was a little kid, I don't know, sometime in high school I decided to conform, and then I wavered a lot, back and forth, for many years, trying to figure out where I fit in.

I think a lot of times, it really does come down to the fact that we're all scared that the people who love us won't love us all the way if they knew. It's like that Six Feet Under quote, when David comes out to his Mom and she's mad he didn't tell her before, he's like, I thought you wouldn't love me anymore, and his Mom is like "I don't choose which part of you I love like some kind of chicken!" like she loves all of him, obvs.

Especially when you're young and still figuring out who you are. Like a few years ago I might not have been willing to come out in situations where I knew I'd be rejected. Now I would be, because I know that there's a 95% chance I'm going to end up with a woman, and I'm at peace with that. There's nothing wrong with it, it's not like admitting something that I did that was bad.

But one of the big things I learned this year from all the fucking bullshit that happened to me is that it's so much more important to me to be who I am than it is to fit into what people want from me in order to give me a corporate job or to love me. You know? Like, in the end, you can't connect to anyone or have as much fun as you oughta have in life if you're always stressed out about hiding things, it can tear you to pieces, and I don't know if I would've been able to embrace that a few years ago but I'm getting better and we all do, about compromises.

At the end of the day I want to be able to say I was true to myself, and maybe I helped someone else do that too, and I guess I have faith that ultimately that will bring good things to me, or at least the things that are right for who I am.

I still lie about random things every now and then in certain crowds and I don't know why, I think it's because there's so little I've done that I'm willing to stand behind, or defend, if that makes sense. There are still things I'm not able to "own." But i think sexuality is one of those things that you do own, that you have to own ... but i don't know. Maybe you don't want people to think untrue things about you ... like if you come out, you're just saying, "this is who i am," but you're afraid that what they are going to hear is "i am trying to make life difficult for you," or "I'm giving into perversions," or something. Like if I say "I'm bisexual," I know that a lot of people hear "I'm a slutmachine," which isn't true, which makes me afraid to say it to begin with in certain crowds. because people aren't hearing what I really say anyhow.

I think people react strongly at first and then they get better, sometimes, and usually people just are hurt they've been lied to and surprised, and every time you lie again, you reassure people in a way that can be damaging. I can't imagine ever rejecting a friend for their sexuality, but I admit I didn't react that well when my Mom came out. It's a longer story than that and makes a lot more sense if you know all of it, but things are okay now. I know the cheesy thing to say is that your real friends will love you no matter what, but I think that's true. I wouldn't want to be friends with an intolerant douchebag. It's harder with family, I think, fo'sure, because you're stuck with them and there's certain complications, but as far as friends go, that's the truth, you don't want to be friends with someone who cant' accept you, just like I don't want to work for any douchebag who doesn't understand the difference between jokes i make about television and my actual life and my quality as an employee.

Lozo said...

5 percent? i'll take that.

Prin said...

#19 is terrible. I know how she feels.

My secret? I don't have any secrets. I have no boundaries.