Dream A Little Dream

I dreamed of the mountains. Soft, rolling hills covered in lush green trees - must be the Appalachians. I know my Blue Ridge when I see it, even in my sleep. I hiked in this dream, alone, up a carefully graveled, winding path (maybe a road). I didn't know where it led, but I was not scared. I thought of my friends and their dogs, and the many hikes we have been on together, but I somehow knew I journeyed on my own.

I kept climbing, and soon found myself at a gate at the bottom of another path - this time smaller and covered in dense, low hanging branches. I made my way through the gate and stumbled into some one's yard. I looked around and found myself approaching a great wooden house full of glass windows. I walked toward the house and came to a door. I peered into the window on the door and saw what seemed to be a living room that led out onto a great, long porch that perched on the edge of the mountain top. There were rockers and lean, laid back chairs (I mean, who wouldn't want that on a porch like this?)

I peered out onto the porch and saw that instead of a structure made of wood or stone, a curved wall of glass exposed the view. It seemed to go on forever. Just as I began to comprehend what I had stumbled onto, I was discovered. A man came from the kitchen and spoke to me, smiling, "And who are you?"

Startled, I stumbled out, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just come on in", and turned to leave. He looked gentle and said, "It's no problem. My name is Ethan." I shook his hand, backed away and quickly made my exit, more embarrassed than frightened. I took off down the path, through the gate and back onto the road. I blinked repeatedly, moved my fingers through my hair and snickered. What a strange encounter. Made stranger still by an approaching car - the man, Ethan, driving, a woman and two children riding along. They slowed and waved as they passed, smiling. I thought to myself (then in the dream), and again when I woke up, who is Ethan, and why were they so glad to see me in their home?

Letter From a Hopeful Place: Bullying

I'm sure all of you know about the anti-bullying campaigns that have been going on across all media outlets for gay people. I have recently been a victim of the opposite kind of bullying - gay insults to straight people. It's absurd, I know, but it inspired me to write this letter that I sent to Ellen Degeneres and Dan Savage. I hope somehow it helps stop the hate.

Dear Dan/Ellen,

I am a single, straight, 30 year-old-woman who lives in Washington, DC. As a straight woman, I do not endure the same hatred that many of my gay friends have to survive day-to-day, however, it has come to my attention recently that I am a victim of another kind of bullying that is well, frankly, absurd.

Last February, I decided to cut my hair really short. Here it is December, and I still have short hair, and I love it, but since I cut my hair, I have determined that no matter how pretty my face is, no matter what clothes I wear, no matter how hard I flirt with boys - if I have short hair, I am automatically categorized as a Lesbian. While this is not in itself an issue (other than it makes what is already a difficult task in DC even more so – finding a decent man), the issue is that I am called a Lesbian by men in a way that is supposed to be an insult.

Perhaps it is a self-defense thing, in that men think if they reject me under the pre- judgment that because I have short hair, that I must be gay, then they in turn will not have to handle the rejection I may send their way if they try to pick me up. Or perhaps, and more horrifying, it is simply satisfying to some men to insult a woman by putting down her sexual orientation. Because I am not gay, I find that I must “defend myself” by proclaiming outright that I am straight. Because it feels like I am under some kind of attack, and must contend my sexuality, in turn, I am afraid that these reactions continue the cycle of hatred that makes bullying a reality.    

How can we overcome this kind of bigotry? How can we make it apparent that attempting to insult a woman by calling her a lesbian is not, in fact, insulting? It seems to me the same thing when boys say something like “that’s gay” in a way to downplay someone’s actions and insult them. People are so afraid of so many things already in this world, I hope that one day someone’s sexual orientation is no longer something to fear or defend.

Thank you for continuing to fight bullying, no matter what kind it is.

Shelby

"An attitude of gratitude brings opportunities."

Dear Random Homeless Man I Passed on My Lunch Break,

While I would like to extend my sincere appreciation for the sentiment, I think I'm gonna go with a solid no on your offer to "eat my pussy".

You're not really my type.

That's not to say that I'm against a little scruff, or men who are a little off the cuff. It's just, well... yeah.

But, in an effort to better myself (and to follow the advice of the words of wisdom that come my way), I would like to take the opportunity to offer the universe my attitude of gratitude for this request in the hopes that a more appropriate candidate will come along.

Okay thanks,
Shelby

P.S. Oh, and next time, try not to yell it so loud into the street. We ladies do like a bold man, but we also like a little discretion if you please.

Missing the Mark

Dear ModCloth,

It's too bad this dress (or, excuse me, "Frock") is so hideous that no one will buy it, therefore your attempts at raising money for Ovarian Cancer Research will fail completely.

However, because I have ovaries, and am I'm not totally cold-hearted - if I see anyone wearing it, I will donate the cost of the dress to Ovarian Cancer Research. That's a whopping $110, people.

Love,

My Heart is Black Not Blue

Walking Words

Somewhere in the middle of a crowded room
we created a heavy loom.
I kissed you a whisper.
With it, you formed a secret and let it fester.

I walk home to wash the rain from my feet.
I loved you I think.
I stay up too late unable to sleep,
sit and wonder how I came to hear this
all alone
on repeat.

Confessions of an Audiowhore

Editor's Note: I wrote this to submit to Nerve.com for their "People I Never Intended to Sleep With" Contest. while my submission was late, I thought I'd post it here for your enjoyment. 

Admittedly, I am a music snob, so my internal Wild Flag should have started waving immediately.  We met at the bar the night of the Archers of Loaf show. Impressed by my beer-and-bourbon order, we talked about this and that, discovered we had an affinity for other single (barrel) music fans, and exchanged numbers. He had never heard of the Archers, but was in a good company of fans, so I let it slide.

After about 2 weeks of much idiotic texting (apparently no one calls anyone anymore), we decided to meet for a date – a drink and a show. The Love Language. I know, how romantic. During our pre-show beers, he made the following fatal mistake.

He asked me, “So, who’s your favorite band?” I hate this question. It’s the one you ask when you have nothing else to say. I struggled, producing bands I’ve been into for years, and threw in a few I thought he might know. As a Michigander, I expected him to be a fan of The White Stripes. “No, not really,” he grimaced. Instead, he revealed that he was in fact a fan of Kid Rock “not even ironically!” I cringed inside, especially when he said he couldn’t find anyone to go with him to the show in a few weeks, and put his hand on my knee smiling as if I would find this charming.   

  

I did not, but I was pretty horny. After a few beers, we headed to see the band. After a few more beers and a bourbon, I let him slide his hands around my waist. After another bourbon, I felt myself leaning against his Midwestern-Kid-Rock-loving chest. After another bourbon, I let him talk me into going home with him on the premise that he would “pay for a cab in the morning.”

That part I didn’t remember as well until the next morning when he handed me a $20. I chirped, “oh yeah, thanks” trying not to feel like a prostitute and continued to fumble around for my clothes. Well, before that exchange, we had some fairly unremarkable sex (in which when I suggested he “slow down a little,” he replied “I don’t have much time” having to be at work in 30 minutes). After he came (and I was nowhere near it) we took a shower and I prepped myself for the trip home in the harsh light of a sober Saturday morning. Made harsher still by the fact that my underwear was nowhere to be found and I was wearing jeans.  

He sent me a text a week later that said “guess what I found?!” looking to see if I’d come to collect. Since I’d kept the money and walked home, I figured he’d paid for my loss. Though I was tempted as I did really like that pair of underwear. Far more than the hairy, bad-in-bed man I left on the doorstep.

Hopefully he found solace in his favorite band, I always do.

From 0-30: Poetry Lesson

Sometimes the stupidest things make me think of you. I'm talking completely useless reminders that have only one apparent goal: to make me miss you. It happens enough that I decided to stop being so sad and annoyed by it and just be grateful that I loved someone so fucking much that even when he turned out to be a complete loser, I was strong enough to get over.    

This time, it was the Neo-Futurists on This American Life that sent me into the depths of your memories. Its a scene between a man and a women in which instead of words, they simply exchange meaning.

Him: Statement.
     Statement.
     Statment. {cough}
     Question?
Her: Agreement.
Him: Reassuring statement.
     Confident statement.
     Confident statement.
     Overconfident statement.
Her: Question?
Him: Elaborate defensive excuse.
     {audience laughter}
Her: Half-hearted agreement.
Him: Insecure statement.
     Distracted statement.
     Absurd statment.
Her: Clarification question?
Him: Panicked bullshit explanation.
     {audience laughter}
     Quick meaningless comic nonsequitur.
     Fake laughter.
     Fake laughter.

LESSON EIGHT: Lord T was right, 'tis better to have loved and lost than not loved at all. (Even if sometimes it makes you feel stupid for ever doing so at all).