Gender Mash Up

I would be a great boy. Day to day, I don't think about my gender much. I suppose that's how gender works, silently infecting everything we do with instructions for how to act. Lately though, I have been taking charge, being "the romantic one", messing around, and I keep thinking- I would make one hell of a guy. Now might be a good time to admit, I tried it once, being a guy. I voluntarily cross dressed for 2 days as a final for my Social Construction of Femininity and Masculinity class.

It started out as a joke, something to get me out of the written final. There was a transgender symposium on campus at the time, and a wonderful workshop called King for a Day. I figured it would be something I could bs my way through, and come out of it one less final to complete. Little did I know my life would be completely in the hands of an undetermined gendered person, and nothing would be the same. The first day, it was all about developing who you are as a man. I was named Topher and I was kind of a hippie. I wanted to put my long hair up in a hat, but our instructor would not allow it. "Men don't do that with their hair." So instead of cutting it, I did no styling, pasted facial hair on my face, and did not bathe. My boyfriend was not pleased. I changed my walk, my voice, my whole demeanor. We were instructed to own our steps; to walk each step as if we owned the ground we were walking on. We were strictly forbidden from smiling, apologizing and getting out of the way of others. (Women do this constantly. If you don't

believe me girls, actively try not doing these things on the street, it's disturbing.) I rode the bus, and for the first time, I got my own seat. I walked into my work, and my coworker and friend said, "Hey buddy, what can I get ya?". I even had to pee in the stall of the men's bathroom, because it's harder to explain that you're just "playing dress up" to a woman at the sink than to just go with it in the men's room. The "ah-ha" moment for me, was when I was leaving the

auditorium after the grand finale presentation. It was dark, and as I stepped out onto campus alone, I was not afraid. I was a man. A dirty smelly man at that. Who would fuck with me? I hadn't realized how crippling the fear of the night was until I no longer felt it.

Overall, it was an incredible experience. I really had to reevaluate my actions. Was I doing things because I liked how I did them, or because it was the "girly" thing to do? Since then, I haven't changed my whole life, but a few minor adjustments have taken place. I sit how I'm comfortable, even if it's not "lady like", and people comment on it every day. I haven't quite become the Boulder armpit hair lady, but shaving my legs is only for very special occasions. (Yes internet people, I'm kind of hairy.) But the biggest change is that I own my steps. It's not about the walk (although I can whip out a mighty swagger if need be), it's about my happiness quest. It's owning up to my choices, and making ones that work for me. OWN that step, because if today's your last day to live, you'll think about every single step. Was the right one? Did you go where you were supposed to? I want the answer to those questions to be 'hell yes'.

Pretty and Witty and Gay!

Maybe I should feel bad... but I don't. I'm catching a little bit of flack for my actions as of late. Some people might see what I'm doing as inconsiderate. I've done some reevaluating and I've changed my perspective and motivations to be a little more... selfish. Eek! You mean I'm actively pursuing my own happiness? How rude!

Maybe I should back up and fill you in as to what caused such a change. I was never selfless in my actions. I've always had my own interests in mind, but I feel like I had some awareness as to what I'm doing to other people, a certain responsibility to the feelings of strangers. As I watched a 2 year old friend yell "MINE" and grab my camera away from me, I realized that we're born with the need to look out for ourselves. We don't even have a concept of other people until quite some time after we're born. I have a reoccurring image of myself at age 60, looking back at the life I've lived, and realizing the people I've been looking out for, stressing about their feelings, they won't matter in the least. Now, I'm not throwing family or friends under the bus here, but random strangers who disapprove of my dating habits? Fuck em. The people higher up than me at work who don't pull their weight but who I don't want to make look bad? They won't matter one iota to the 60 year old me. What will matter is whether or not I made myself happy. So that's what I've been doing, and it's been working out pretty well.

I was walking around the resort that I live at, and a friend was watching from a penthouse above. He called me later to ask me why I was so happy. I didn't know what he was talking about, but apparently, I was dancing. Skipping, disco handing, twirling, the whole gambit. I didn't even know I was doing it. I guess the happiness crusade is working. I feel pretty... :)

Getting Lucky

Last night, as I sat in my uncle's hot tub, listening to the waves crashing, looking at the stars, the very obvious thought finally crossed my mind- I'm lucky. I get so wrapped up in the future, that I forget to look around at where I'm at right now. I'm in an amazing place, surrounded by family who love me and friends that care. No matter what comes in the future, I have to remember these days as some of my best. I have no bills. That's huge! Outside of work, there's no one who I report to. If I decide to drive 45 minutes away to get the best milkshakes around, I can. If I want to stay out until 5 am dancing with strangers, I can. What's more, I actually do these things. If I had children, or roommates, or a dog even, there would be someone or something counting on me to be home, to be responsible. I can do what I want, when I want to, which is a luxury many people just don't have.

There are so many blogs that talk about the struggles that people face, infertility, death, depression- and I don't face any of them. Any problems that I do face seem minuscule in comparison. Some of the hardest times I've experienced were in college, when I struggled with money. The looming bills each month constantly weighing on my brain, I was always stressed. With the clarity that comes with time, I can see now that I was stressed, but not depressed. Depression is something that many of the people close to me struggle with. Looking at the genes, the stats, and the fact that it's not something I face, I have to come to the same conclusion- I'm a lucky little whippersnapper.

So how can I save these moments? How can I capture this luck? The term 'live in the moment' comes to mind, but how does one actually do that? Stop planning so far ahead? I feel like there's some kind of deeper appreciation that I need to tap into. I'm open for suggestions as to how. I'll start today by setting aside a little time to hang my legs off the stone wall at my uncle's place and soak in the view of the ocean spread in front of me... and perhaps tonight I'll dance with a few strangers.

Settle Down Now ...

When I was in my first sociology class ever, my teacher gave us a warning- once you start looking at things from outside the social box, you can never go back. As a 17 year old in an intro class, I was intrigued but didn't heed the warning. I don't know if I would have switched majors had I known that every decision I made after that which involved other people would be second guessed and over analyzed. It's even hard for me to watch movies with out wondering why they made the villain darker skinned than the hero, or why the chick flicks rarely end with the woman making grand gestures.

The most recent annoying sociology pondering comes when I think about my romantic relationships, and where I see them going. The well socialized woman in me gets dreamy eyed when I think about a guy being "The One". I mentally check his last name to see how it sounds with my first (no doodles... *ahem* usually), I think about how tall our kids would be, I wonder if he will be in the "poor guy wedding" or "rich guy wedding" categories that I've been planning since I was 5- all the appropriate fluster. Then, the sociology fairy chimes in.

"Are you really jumping to marriage already? Why do you need a contract and a declaration in front of family in order to feel legitimate? Marriage doesn't even exist except as a social path into an institution which has constantly supported patriarchal, heterosexist values. Furthermore, do you even think that monogamy is the best or only path for a successful relationship? Why are you assuming that men are the only available partner for you?......" Sociology doesn't shut up. She's a total buzz kill.

So can I never settle down with a clear intellectual conscience? What does settling down entail, and is 24 the age that people are doing it? Why, WHY do I care what other people are doing? Just as my head starts pounding, I see a light of clarity shining brightly through the socy questions and the cultural expectations. My friend and her relationship. When I'm down, I just think about her 5+ year relationship with a wonderful, intelligent, socially aware partner. They just recently bought a house together, because they wanted to, not due to any outside pressure, and because it would be a great place for their dog (not kids). They refuse to answer any questions regarding "when they're going to get married", because they're just enjoying each other's company. They travel, they go out, they stay in, but most of all, they're enjoying life and youth together and ignoring what they "should" be doing. In the end, it seems like the perfect situation.

Now the tricky part is telling that nice boy that he's great, but marriage makes me mentally shudder. It doesn't sound very nice. Maybe he'll just have to get over it, and I'll keep making little hearts around his name.

Juggling

Sorry for the radio silence, I've been a touch overwhelmed. Yesterday my dear uncle and godfather offered me a part time position as a real estate agent. It's a hell of an offer, seeing that he runs one of the biggest brokerages in Cabo, so why did I feel like he just signed my life away? Perhaps it's because this would be job number 3, and I have no intention of quitting #1 or #2. Part of me wants to bury my head in the sand (conveniently located right outside my door), but mostly I just want to talk about it.

Even after years of sociology describing the different ways men and women handle stress or conflict, I can't seem to rise above the need to just vent, aimlessly. Supposedly, in American culture at least, women tend to feel better about problems by talking about them, going over the events, venting. Men feel better when the problems are getting solved. So you have a situation where a woman comes home and wants to talk about how awful her day was, and her husband (trying to help) starts to tell her what she should do to fix it. She doesn't want instructions, she wants to "talk about it". He might not see the point in just postulating, let's solve things damn it!

Ok, the woman part of me wants to be acknowledged for my effort, someone just tell me that it's pretty cool that I'm not dropping the ball on these three, rather consuming, jobs. I'm juggling them all, and not one of them has complained. My masculine side says, none of these jobs are what you went to school for. Keep only the real estate job, make enough money to start my gender institute, and stop whining.

That would be too simple wouldn't it? I believe it's the same part of me that loves the jerk guys which finds comfort in chaos. This part of me will slowly kill me, but I believe the reasoning goes something like, the highs are higher and the lows are lower when there's more at stake, which is better than melancholy. The more things I have on my plate, the more full I feel, like I'm actually doing something. Which is better? To be partially fulfilled but never devastated? Or to constantly love/hate your life or lover, peaks and valleys included?

We need to talk...

I'm finding how hard it is to choose a location for "a talk". I'm guessing the talk will be about repairing an irreparable relationship. The perfect spot would be in public (to avoid scenes, but in the land of squabbling couples, you never know), it would have food or drinks to fiddle with to avoid eye contact when needed, and it would have an easy escape route.

I'm not quite sure how The Talk was planned, but now there's no avoiding it. I believe I asked a series of difficult questions like, 'are you seeing other people', and 'do you plan to continue seeing other people'. The only answer I got was, 'puedemos hablar de eso en person'. I translated that one loud and clear- We need to talk.

Chicago's sociology of sexuality, albeit a bit wacky, divulged into my generation's dating habits, and apparently The Talk is very common. Hooking up first, then hooking up again, perhaps an actual date, then the talk, then a relationship. It's almost completely backwards from earlier conceptions of dating. So why am I dreading it so much? Maybe it has to do with my complete disillusion with the dating culture in Mexico. I just don't believe a word that comes out of the mens' mouths. My aunt assures me that they really do mean that they love me to pieces and that I am the stars and the moon to them, but that doesn't mean I'm the only one. Hmm. The thing is, as my first sociology professor taught me, relationships don't have to look like the cookie cutter chick flick version of love. I'm very interested in polyamory. But as any poly will tell you, honesty is crucial. Which is why, with much grumbling, I'm walking into this Talk with all 3 verbs that I know in Spanish, prepared to lay it all on the line.

Travel Snob

Meh.

I just received the generous offer to return to Nicaragua... and I said no. Now, that might sound insane, seeing as it would be an adventure to an amazing country, but I'm kind of a snob. I don't know what it is about new places that draws me in the way it does, but once I've been to a place, it's hard for me to go back. The only way I would return, as in the case of Cabo, is if I'm living there. The stupid part is, it's all about sound bites. It's one thing to say, "I've been to Nicaragua", or "I lived in Mexico for 2 years" but beyond that, my interest wanes. I want to go somewhere new. I want to find that new experience, the new place that I'm going to fall in love with.

I don't know what makes some people fall ill with the travel bug, but I have it bad. The idea of buying a house both terrifies and titillates me. On the one hand, I can't imagine anchoring myself to one place. Even leases longer than 3 months make me itch. On the other hand, the idea of making a life for myself sounds so cozy.

It's the same with dogs. I would love a gigantic dog; just a monster of a beast. But how to I justify putting my great dane/ rottweiler mix in the cargo pit of a plane? Someday, I'm going to have to decide if I will settle down or stay nomadic, but for now, I would rather try to negotiate a new vacation location in the least snobby way possible.