Sexuality Happens

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters blog endeavor. Today marks the 8th day (for those new, I’m not doing them all back to back, but rather scattering them, in order), in which I’m supposed to write to my favorite internet friend.

I’m not sure who I would write to. A lot of my first internet friends, back from the early days of the Net (late 90s), I have no touch with. Other internet friends (early to mid 2000s) I stay in *some* touch with them, but they certainly wouldn’t be my best internet friend(s).

No, my best internet friends are those I’ve made since I started blogging. And while I’ve met them online, and connect with them mostly online, I’ve gotten to meet most of them in person, lucky for me. If I had to choose, which I’d prefer not to, I’ll write to Always Aroused Girl, one of the best internet (and IRL friends) a lady could want:

Dear AAG - 

Thank you for helping to keep me sane. Thank you for helping to show me the ways of the big, bad-ass blog world. Thank you for always being there to support me when I need to rant and rave, for helping me survive the EF drama (and for understanding why I couldn’t leave as quickly as I wished). Thank you for helping me figure out some of the ins and outs of this site, as well as helping me to design ShannaKatz.com completely. You’re an interwebs rockstar.

I’m so happy to be a friend of yours. You’re a genuinely good person, and very much the same person in real life as well as in the internet world. You’re amazing, and I’m honored to have you as a friend, both in the online world and the flesh and blood one. Thanks for serving as my online super hero. I have so much love for you!

<3

-Essin’ Em

Here is another “Back in the Day” post, this from February 23, 2009, about the Five Love Languages.

Jiz Lee recently wrote a post that got me thinking.

The five love languages are familiar to me.

These are the five love languages:

1. Words of Affirmation

2. Quality Time

3. Receiving Gifts

4. Acts of Service

5. Physical Touch

I first learned about the 5 love languages at camp in 8th grade (welcome to smart kid camp). We all wrote our top two ways we best received love on our arms, so that people in our groups understood how to best demonstrate their love for us (again, gifted kid camp).

It’s important that people understand that there is no right or wrong language. If you feel loved when you receive gifts, this doesn’t mean it has to be diamond rings…it could be cookies, flowers, a book someone thinks you’d like, a hand-me-down that is perfect for you. Physical touch, while it CAN be sex, it doesn’t have to be. It can be hugs, cuddling, massages, having your hair stroked. Acts of service can be anything from fixing a washing machine (or bed frame!) to giving you a ride to the airport or picking up a package for you from the post office. Words of affirmation don’t have to be said at a specific time or in a specific way; I love you, you’re beautiful, I enjoy how you make me think, thank you for being in my life. These are all words of affirmation. And quality time? That can be whatever you make of it. Strolling through museums, curled up on the couch watching movies, or supporting one another by attending events that are important to you.

I loved the concept, and made of poster of them for the wall in my bedroom. I literally just took it down from my mother’s house the other day while cleaning it out. I held it, I read it, and I thought about how much I use it in various facets of my life, whether by name or not. Actually, I just had a conversation about the love languages with a woman who is in Vagina Monologues with me. They are everywhere.

It may seem silly, but those five simple ideas have helped me so much throughout my life. I know that Ifeel best loved through physical touch and quality time. I want people I care about to hold me, to kiss me, to feel me, to touch me. I want them to want to spend time with me. Walking through the Denver Zoo with Q, going lingerie shopping with my friend in SF, seeing people I love in the audience at my performances; this is quality time for me. Acts of service are hard, because when I’m sick, I want nothing more than soup and tea, and feel loved when people provide them for me…but when I’m not sick, I’m very counter dependent, and have trouble letting people do favors for me.

How do I best show my love? Physical touch, quality, and acts of service like woah fuck. I leave my phone on 24-7, so people I care about can get ahold of me whenever they need me. I love giving people I love rides, I love helping them with online things, I love supporting them however I can. I am a touchy-feely person; I give hugs, pets and cuddles like no one’s business. And quality time…? Well, just like I want people I love to spend time with me, equally, I want to spend time with them.

I can give words of affirmation. Usually they are written, although sometimes spoken. But I have much trouble receiving them. Especially from people I love. I can’t imagine that they actually think I’m beautiful, or brilliant, or witty. I mean, yes, it’s a self-conscious thing, I know that. And I’ve gotten better at taking compliments. But I still have issues with it. I also have trouble getting gifts, unless I really know someone. But I do love giving gifts, things I’ve made, things I’ve found while out and about that are perfect for people I care about. So while I can and do show my affection in these ways, they aren’t the go to ways for me, as i have trouble receiving love these ways.

Knowing these things has helped me explain myself to my partners. I realized when I was presenting my Poly/Relationship Mapping class at Femina Potens last month why having a partner who would bring me soup when I was sick was so important; it’s hard for me to ask for help, and so me asking for soup, and then having it brought to me was a demonstration of love…TO ME. It wasn’t until I was explaining it you all the people at this class that *I* realized why it was so important to me, so how could any of my former partners know how much this mean. When I hop into bed, and someone sleepily puts their arms around me, or strokes my back, I feel loved. When someone arranges to hang out with me, or just shows up wanting to spend time with me, I feel love. When Monkey and Jen drove hours with 3 kids to come and take me to Fisherman’s Wharf and spend time with me, I felt cared for. When my best friend showed up on my door step the week before Valentine’s Day, as I felt like I lay on my death bed, with a half-gallon of minestrone and a smile, I realized how loved I was.

But also realize that I need to know my friends and partners love languages in order to best demonstrate my love to them, in a way that they understand and accept. I have some friends that are not touchy – I’ve learned this. So instead of telling them they just did an amazing job by giving them a big hug, I have to say it out loud. For some of my friends, they love it when I give them extra sex toys and porn, but are so busy that they don’t have time for quality time. We have to adapt, and we have to know ourselves, so we can tell the people who love us HOW to best love us.

As usual, it all boils down to communication. Communication is key, you know the drill :)

In hindsight, I wonder what the good doctor and all the gifted kid counselors would say if they knew how well discussing love languages helped relationships…sexual, kinky, poly and more.

 This is part of my 30 Days of Letters blog endeavor. This is day 7, writing a letter to an ex…an ex partner, an ex love, an ex crush.

This was one I wasn’t looking forward to. Why? I mean, I’m friends with my last 3 ex-partners, at least to some extent. I don’t like burning bridges. Hell, I’m even friends with most of my former crushes.

However, I feel like this is supposed to be a deeper letter, one that makes me think. And so, I write this letter to Julius. I wrote a bit about him here. He is an ex-friend, an ex crush, an ex-love, and much more.

Dear Julius,

I still, more than half a decade later, don’t know what it was I did to have you cut off all contact with me. You, the person I talked to nightly on the phone all through high school. You, one of the first people I had a real crush on. You, who I laughed with, and cried with, and adventured with. What exactly was it that I did that night we hooked up, that some how convinced you to never talk to me again.

I could use humor, and joke that I didn’t think that I was that bad of a kisser, that you seemed to have enjoyed it. But this isn’t a time for joking. I don’t think you know exactly how badly you’ve hurt me.

You’re the first person who told me that they loved me. Not once, not twice, and not even only in languages that I understood. After my father died, you were the only one that was there to support me, and helped to keep the pieces of me together when I shattered apart. You were my support system, my knight in punk rock/grunge armor, my guy friend, my best friend, my crush, my love, and so much more that I can’t even define.

I think about you every once in a while. I do. I hope you’re happy, whatever it is that you’re doing. I honestly do, despite how much hurt and pain you’ve given me over the years, and despite how much you’ve contributed to my fear of being abandoned by those I love.

I only wish, that one day, I found out what it was that made you cut all of the things that tied us together. I’ve spent many nights, many days, many plane flights and train trips, all trying to figure out what I did to make you cut me from your life, to shut me out like all of those years that we’d had together never existed. It pains me more to know that I must have done or said something to hurt you, and yet I have no idea. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for.

So Julius, should you ever read this, please tell me. Some how, please tell me what it was I did. Because you see, it’s really fucked me up all these years. It’s made me afraid that one day, everyone I love is just going to shut me out of their life. And I feel, however irrationally, that if I just *KNEW* what it was, and never did it again, that somehow, I’d be a little safer in the arms of those I love. Please.

Best of luck in your life,

-Essin’ Em

Since I came back from Florida, it’s been non-stop. Q’s sister was in town visiting from Long Island. Jamye Waxman was in town to speak. Q started her first day as a grad school professor. I still haven’t had time to process all the emotion and family drama from my Florida trip, and Q is on a meditation kick (which I’m trying to do daily, and seems to give me headaches).

The result? Right now, we have an incredibly mercurial relationship, almost bi-polar. One minue, we’re holding hands, looking into each others’ eyes, sharing frozen yogurt, being all lovey dovey. The next, we’re arguing with each other about little things, being nit picky, almost ignoring each other.

People keep telling me it’s Mercury in retrogade. I don’t normally believe in that, but we all like to cling to something to explain why our lover and ourselves have suddenly started acting bi-polar towards the relationships…and I mean hell, Mercurial (the temperament/actions) and Mercury sure sound alike, right?

But it’s made me realize, along with some posts on Alphafemme’s blog, that relationships constantly require work, even if they’re working out just fine. Being complacent about the relationship leads to things getting stale, or issues not being worked out. However, I’m also realizing that working on and improving relationships takes a lot of hard work.

This is the longer sexual/lover relationship I’ve ever been in. I mean, I’ve made friendships work for years. My best friend Annabelle and I have been friends since 2002, and my best friend E and I since 1999. Clearly, I can handle long term relationships/friendships, including their natural ups and downs.

However, I’m new to making long term lovers/partner relationships work. I didn’t realize how hard it can be, how much effort need to be involved in truly communicating (instead of just saying yes and no, or I like this/don’t like this), how much it can hurt as we work through our issues, as well as personal issues that get brought up.

I’ve never been a highly emotional person before, but I am often with Q, because I just have so much love and trust for her, which seems to bring out this side. I need to work hard not on pushing them down, but not letting them run wild. I let little things hurt more than they should, and I feel a lot of my OCD-ness and anxiety returning, something which I would like not to happen.

Then there is the disability thing. As things get worse, and I have more bad days, and hospital visits, I always get worried that something will be the last straw, and she won’t want to deal with me anymore. I’m trying to figure out how to even phrase this feeling. I’m not sure yet.

I have a huge fear of being left/abandoned by those I love; friends and partners alike. It happened with Julius, and with Nikki, and with the Kinky Whore, and I’m terrified it’s going to happen with Q. It’s not logical, I know, but I have a history of people I love leaving me. Can I trace it back to daddy issues, and my father dying when I was 13? Possibly. Who knows? Regardless, no matter how much I trust Q, I still have this voice in the back of my head, especially whenever we’re aruging or trying to improve things, telling me that “if you don’t do it right, if you mess up at all, Q is going to leave you, just like everyone else.” I need to figure out how to quiet that voice, and trust in Q and in what we have together.

Q pointed out to me that relationships cannot thrive and grow unless we ourselves thrive and grow. Whether that is through writing, therapy, meditation (I’ve decided I’ll try it daily for 3 weeks, and then decide if it is in fact helping me), etc, we have to, as individuals, work on ourselves in order to work on our relationship.

And so, I’m working on harnessing my emotions, learning to let things go. I’m trying to not attach so much importance to little things. I’m trying to re-create more of my own life here. It’s hard. I don’t really have friends. I strongly dislike the kink community, there is no queer community, and most of the lesbians we’ve met drink a lot and do drugs, neither of which is for me. I’m having a hard time creating my own life outside of Q and my relationship because I’m in an area where I don’t fit, where I don’t belong. I think that’s part of the issue.

And I’m going to work on, I’m not sure how, but I’m going to work on this fear of abandonment. I’m open to suggestions, ideas, etc. How do you convince yourself to leave your past alone and trust in the future and in your parnter, completely?

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. This is supposed to be a letter to your dreams.  I didn’t know if they meant like dreams you have at night (which I have been having some freaking crazy ones as of late), or dreams like your hopes and goals. I decided to go with the latter.

Dear Dreams…

It’s so interesting how you’ve changed over time. When I was five, I wanted nothing more in the world to be an archaeologist, like Indiana Jones. Then, it was a vet. When I got to high school, I decided I wanted to be a counselor for gifted children, and went into college expecting to do so. Somewhere in there, I discovered sex ed, and dreamed of working for Planned Parenthood, which brought me to grad school. From there, I fell into the world Feminist Porn and Porn for Women, and then into the world of sex toys. I wanted to be a feminist pornographer/sex toy shop owner with a studio/dungeon in the basement.

And now? I’m not sure. I am a sex educator, I am a feminist pornographer, I am a blogger, I am a writer, I am a reviewer, I am a marketer. I’m not sure what direction the tide will take me next; things are always changing in life, and it seems even more so in the sexuality field.

I had dreams of living in Europe…not likely with my three cats and partner now (although a long term visit may be in order). I had dreams of owning a house, which I almost did back in Philly. Now $15,000 of medical debt is going to push that one to the back burner for a while.

I have dreams of being able to easily walk up stairs, and maybe go for a jog. A realistic dream in the long run perhaps, but very expensive and time consuming and difficult to find a doctor who will do knee replacements on someone this young. This dream seems like a more long term one.

So for now, as I look at it, my dreams are:

*Getting out of the epic amount of debt Q and I share

*Moving back to Colorado by May 2011

*Celebrating our love with a wedding in October 2011

*Speaking at more colleges and universities (long term – be as cool as Tristan and Ducky and Nina Hartley and Midori and Megan Andelloux and the rest of the heavy hitters of sex ed)

*Traveling with Q to Europe – she’s never been, and I miss it badly

*Eventually owning our own home (10 years?)

*In the next 10 years, owning a Hybrid

*Add more states to my “I’ve been there!” list

*Try more cupcakeries and vegetarian restuarants across the US

*Figure out what to do about further education. I always thought that I’d want a PhD, need a PhD, have no other plan than to finally get my doctorate. Now I’m not sure.

*Meet many more amazing people, both online and in real life

*Live an outstanding, crazy and fulfilling life with Q and our kitties

*Enact change and fight for social justice and equality.

Dreams, I will try my best to reach for you, and honor you, but I don’t want to be so specific anymore. I want more of a concept and less of the exact science. I want to dream big, and aim in many directions. Thank you dreams, for being there, for changing with me, for helping me grown.

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. This is supposed to be a letter to your sibling, or nearest relative. Ergo, I write it to my 20 year old sister.

Dear Sister -

We have not always had the best relationship. In fact, even right now, we don’t have what I would call “the best” relationship. However, we have been working on that, and I’m excited to see how things change.

It’s been hard. You were nine when dad died, and ever since then, I’ve felt it was you and mom against me. I never seemed to have the right answers, I never seemed to do the right activities, wear the right clothes, like the right stuff. You two were peas in a pod, and I felt alone. By choosing to be a lawyer (or at least go that direction), you’ve made the family very happy and gotten them off my back a little. Still, it’s hard being constantly compared to you, your choices, and your successes.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but as of the last couple of months, our phone converations have ended with “I love you.” That hasn’t happened before. I don’t end my talks with mom that way, even though I do with Q, and all my friends. While it has been a very deliberate effort on my part, and perhaps yours as well, it means a lot to me that we are changing our interaction.

We are so different. In looks, in likes, in wants, in needs. It’s hard to connect with you sometimes, because I feel so far away, so out of the loop. I’ve never dated an Air Force Cadet. I wasn’t in a sorority. I never wanted to go to law school. For a while, it seemed like the only thing we could talk about saw sex, and then you’d flip about when I said something you didn’t understand. I myself was nervous talking to you about your first time…shocking, yes, but it’s hard to talk about your sister having sex to your sister…it just is.

So thank you for trying. Please know I’m trying to. It’s hard, being far away, and it’s hard, given all the hurtful feelings that I’ve felt from you and mother in the past, but we will make it work. We’ve already made some very positive changes.

I look forward to more changes, to getting to say I love you more, to having you help plan the wedding, to eventually living in the same state again, and to growing, hopefully, closer. I don’t think we’ll ever be to peas in a pod, but two different veggies sharing the same salad bowl is good enough for me.

-Essin’ Em

I’m back. I’m alive, but barely. It was an emotional roller coaster of a trip. For those of you that follow me on Twitter or Facebook, thank you for putting up with the drama.  

Above is a picture I took from my hotel room’s balcony of the beautiful beach. I spent all of 1.5-2 hours on it over 5 days.

Highlights of what happened:

*My aunt’s partner is ok. She’s recovering from the double mastectomy and reconstruction. My aunt is not a naturally good caretaker, so a lot of that fell to us as far as getting pudding cups for her to eat, encouraging icing, keeping my aunt from leaving her drugged up partner alone to go to dinner with us, etc.

*My grandfather does know I’m a “lesbian.” I think my aunt blames myself, and the Amelia Erhardt barbie she gave me when I was little. Despite him knowing about this, I’ve been discourage from both my aunt and my grandfather from talking about Q. Needless to say, he will not be coming to the wedding.

*My sister and mother clearly dislike me. At one point, my sister directly told me that my presence makes her life miserable.  10 minutes later, she asked for advice on shoes. They have so normalized their dislike of me that it no longer interrupts their flow when they tell me such things.

*I had amazing food on the trip. Seasons 52 (a restaurant) is AMAZING, as was the Bruschetta with Goat Cheese Creme Brulee I got at O’Gradys in Delray Beach.

*My grandfathers partner/common law wife is mentally and emotionally abusive. To the point where he is scared to go home, but more scared to be late getting home. I don’t know what I can do about this.

*I don’t think my family recognizes my disability, particularly as far as needing to take my meds regularly, and with food.

*I did find two nice cardigans for cheap at TJMaxxx, and bought my sister an outrageously expensive purse for her birthday.

*I finished all 700 pages of the Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 2.

*I only cried 3 times in 5 days.

*I experienced a horrible case of disability discrimination from a Southwest Airlines gate attendant.  They’ve always been very disability aware, and I filed a complaint. I’m interested to see their response.

*I will not see my family (mother/sister) again until either January or next summer, and my aunt/her partner/my grandfather until next summer.  Will there be phone/email fights? Yes. But will I feel like I’m the worst person in the world for being myself? Not again until January or the summer.

That’s all. Happy to be home with Q and the kitties.

-Essin’ Em

Last weekend, Q’s birthday weekend, we were both sick as dogs. I mean, I have had a lot of illness in my life, but the majority of it has been respiratory; whooping cough, pneumonia, etc. Or it’s been physically injury, like my knees, and hips, and getting hit with a boomerang, or having my foot caught in the fly wheel of a bike. I’ve been lucky enough not to have had much in the way of stomach bugs since I was a kid.

WARNING: Story is about a stomach bug. Don’t read if you have a weak tummy.

Now, this is good, because I hate throwing up. I’d rather have 30 MRIs or 50 injections that throw up once. I hate hate hate the feeling of throwing up. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve never been a big drinker; the fear of possibly drinking to much and then throwing up is a very potent weapon to sticking with a glass or two of wine, and frou frou and delicious drinks.

But all this aside, I came home the night of the 5th from teaching a class at Fascinations on the G-spot and Female Ejaculation. I was fine. I made myself some homemade guacamole, ate it with pita chips, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so good. We went to bed.

An hour later, Q found me on the floor of the bathroom, holding an alcohol pad to my nose (it can reduce nausea) with an empty bottle of Pepto Bismo.  I was hugging the toilet, trying to do everything in my power that I could to not throw up. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

For the next 6 hours, I had one of the worst nights of my entire life. Every hour, on the hour, like clock work, I would run to the bathroom to projectile vomit. I’ve never experienced this before; vomit being forced out of your body, through your mouth, and both nostriles, while you’re essentially peeing out your ass. I’d vomit and shit at the same time. My throat and nose were burning, my ass was chapped. I used every available place to throw up; the toilet, the sink, a trash can, the bathtub.

And through out all of this, Q had a damp washcloth on the back of my neck, and helped me clean up and bleach the crap out of everything…each and every time I pulled an Exorcist. I couldn’t even keep down water, and my black eye make up from the night before was smeared down my face, adding the the look. She brought me SmartWater, and helped me into bed, each and every time. Finally, at 5am, when it showed no signs of stopping, she drove desperately trying to find an open drug store (this is AZ, remember?), and brought me home more Pepto, and Gingerale, and Gatorade.

Through all of this, I don’t remember much, although I do distinctly remember trying to verbalize how much everything hurt and how much I just wanted to die. However, as I lay in bed the next day, my muscles exhausted, too weak to even move to get online, I remembered how cared for I felt. How much having her help me through this meant to me.  

Oh course, the poor thing got sick Saturday night (although she only threw up once), and was dead to the world all day Sunday. Birthday plans were obviously postponed.

Love has many facets. There is the attraction, the reliability, the thrill of something new, the chemical connection, the familiarity. But when I am sick, there is nothing more in the world that I want (other than possibly to die, in this case) than to have someone taking care of me. And when Q, who had a luncheon and two presentations the next day, spent her night taking care of me, I just realized, yet again, how much I love her, and how much love she has for me. Cleaning up after the Exorcist? Now THAT is love.

-Essin’ Em

This is part of my 30 Days of Letters endevor. As my father has been dead more than a decade, and fulfills other days, I’m going to write this to my mother.

Mother -

We have what many would see as a tumultuous relationship. There really are three parts of you that I get. There is the awesome part, that sends me news articles about gay marriage in other countries, that makes fun of John McCain, that sends Q and I fans for our cars out of the blue.

Then there is the side that has hurt me so much emotionally over the years; the side that convinced me that my family would never approve of/support me in what I do, that my relationships would never be welcome, that I would be ground in HS if I got a B. This is the side that plays BLATANT favoritism with my sister, to the point that people have pointed it out and asked me what I did to piss you off. This is the side that has caused countless tears, nights without sleep, thoughts of becoming a runaway, of emancipating myself in college, of disowning the family. You’ve gotten better in the past bit, but it’s still hard not to think of the acts you did that made me hate myself and regret living. Telling someone they tried to kill themselves because they wanted attention, or because they had a vegetarian diet? That’s just low.

And now, as you grow older into your 60s, there is the side that worries me. This is the part of you that tells me the same thing three times in one phone conversation, that has you confusing me with my sister, that has you tripping in the backyard, falling and hurting your knees. You live alone in a 3-story house, and I know you can’t even get down to the basement to deal with the cat litter (there is vomit and shit all over the floor). I keep trying to encourage you to sell and down size, offering to help you go through the stuff, and to move, but you reject it. I’ve offered to get my handy man friend to come over and put up towel racks that have fallen down for years, or lights that have been out for months. I get no response. It’s very hard to take care of someone who is slowly falling apart when they won’t accept your help. And it’s very hard to offer you help when I’ve been in dire situations, and gotten none from you.

I don’t hate you. I used to think I did, but I’ve realized that I don’t. However, it’s also incredibly hard to love you. I feel like I love you because I have to, not because there has been a growth of love between us. I hope this changes in the next few years, I do. I don’t want to feel this way. I can see that you’re trying; offering to pay for the cupcakes in our wedding is a HUGE step, especially since you don’t support the fact that we’re getting wedded. I appreciate that, and I give you my word that I will try to. Just know that this is all going to take time, and I don’t quite know how much of that we have, given the average life length in our family. But I will try.

I love you, in my own way,

-Essin’ Em

Today, I fly out to Florida to visit my grandfather, my aunt, and her partner. It’s going to be a very interesting trip. Why? Well, for a few reasons.

1. Sometimes my mother is cool, politically active, and involved. Sometimes, she makes me cry and has chosen to not support me in pretty much anything (work, school, medical issues, moving to other states) I do/have done over the past few years. Sometimes, I worry about her health (she’s in her 60s, often tells me the same thing 3-4 times, forgets things, and has some medical issues). It’s an interesting relationship dynamic. We haven’t been close ever, but much less since my father died, and then since I went to grad school in 2006.

2. My sister and I also have an interesting relationship. It can sometimes be fine, other times very rocky, but I don’t know if it’s ever been defined as a “good” relationship. We’ve started saying “I love you” on the phone for the first time this year. We’re sharing a room.

3. My aunt’s partner is having a double masectomy and reconstructive surgery for an aggressive tumor the day before we get there. My aunt is a wreck, and keeps apologizing for messing up our trip. I keep explaining that this is what family does, and we’re happy to be able to help.

4. Said aunt is the one who, when I emailed her that Q and I were engaged, called my mother and told her we shouldn’t rub it in people’s faces, and that our relationship/sexuality needed to be a private thing. Very very very hurtful, and bit unexpected. That said, I think her partner’s illness is making her more open to our open-ness.

5. Despite me breaking down and using the term girlfriend (rather than the preferred “partner”) to refer to Q, I don’t think my grandfather understands that Q and I are dating/fucking/together. He may still think we’re roommates. I plan to explain our relationship as “just like my aunt and her partner” and see how that goes.

6. My grandfather’s current partner (my grandmother died before I was born) is emotionally and mentally abusive. And she refuses to let my aunt in my grandfather’s condo. So all interaction with us + aunt + grandfather takes place in restautants or our hotel.

So as you can see, while most people would be excited about a trip to Florida for four days, and find it relaxing, this is just going to be a ball of stress, diffusion and care-taking for me. I’d really love a real vacation, but for now, this is what I’ve got. 

Wish me luck. I’ll be around on Twitter for sure, so keep in touch there!

-Essin’ Em