I would hope that the person who broke your heart (the jerk!) had the good sense to read Lesbian Life Lesson #16 and broke up with you properly. Even if she didn’t, that’s okay. The next steps are essentially the same.

The first thing is to allow yourself time to be sad and hurt. Don’t try to “get over it” too quickly. I read somewhere that it takes you half as long as you were with someone to move on and somewhere else one month for every year you were together. It probably depends but that will at least give you some guidelines.

After the initial shock (and probably tear-fest), give yourself limits. For example, “Okay, self, at 6 pm every day, you get to cry and be pathetic for an hour. After that, it’s back to business.” Eat ice cream, listen to sad music, look at pictures, whatever. Eventually, you’ll feel less of a need to do this, but to be safe, I’d limit yourself to maybe a week or so. Not that you’ll be *done* but that’s a lot of time to indulge yourself and might keep you from moving on. So, then say “Okay, self, every other day at 6 pm, you get an hour” and then every third day, etc. If you find yourself needing to do this less frequently, that is fabulous!

Tell people when you’re ready but please don’t get carried away and tell everything. Trust me on this. It’s so tempting to trash the other person but it’s never a good idea. It makes you look bad more than it makes them look bad and you may come to regret it, no matter what the other person did. Just having so many people have intimate details of your life can be unsettling. Keep some of it to yourself. Your best friend(s) are another story. To them, you can talk until they tell you to shut up about it. Trash away. They love you and know you are just venting.

If she gave you a gift that was sentimental to her or valuable, give it back to her. I have this teddy bear that my grandmother (who died when I was 16) gave me on the day that I was born. Oscar is his name. Oscar has been a comfort to me on numerous occasions over the years and I gave him to a woman I was dating because she was having a huge crisis and I thought it could comfort her. It did. I was so grateful when she gave it back to me when we broke up. I would have missed him. I’ve heard lots of stories of women getting someone’s grandmother’s ring as an engagement ring, then refusing to return it when the relationship ended. Don’t be like that. It’s childish and petty and tacky.

At some point, you will have to tell your friends and family. Keep it as calm and brief as possible. “Jane and I broke up. I don’t want to talk about the details but I thought you should know.” Or something like that. Use some discretion about to whom you tell what. Especially if there is *any* chance you might get back together. It will be hard for your parents to trust the woman if you tell them she cheated on you or stole money from you or whatever, regardless of how much you insist that she’s changed.

Here are a few things NOT to do:

Don’t update Facebook or Twitter relentlessly with your latest memory or rant. This I can tell you from experience: you will regret it.

Don’t tell all your ex’s secrets. Would you want them to tell yours? Even if they DO tell yours, be the bigger person and keep their confidence. Being classy isn’t dependent on reciprocation. I know, it’s hard. There are a couple of things I wanted to say to the new love interest of a woman I dated recently but I didn’t. It damn near killed me but I didn’t. I wouldn’t have been telling her because I thought it would be helpful but to be hateful. Basically “Oh, you think you can trust her? Right, well, she’ll do it to you, too, and here is how I know that.” Uh uh. Don’t do it.

Don’t throw away all of your letters, photos and other memories. You probably can’t believe it right now, but you will probably want those at some point, especially if you’re young now. I threw away all the letters my high school boyfriend wrote to me along with most of the pictures he took of me and I seriously regret it now. No, not because he and I are ever going to be together again but because I am no longer hurt or angry and I would love to be able to remember all those things. When I was finished with the hurt, I remember how much fun we had listening to music and talking about our mutual friends and all that. It would be nice to have the momentos.

If you blog, don’t post blog posts about the break up for a while. Write them if you must, but keep them private until you’ve had time to calm down. You’ll be glad you did, if for no other reason than you probably had a lot of typos because you were upset.

There have been thousands, if not millions, of books written about how to survive a break up. Read them if you think it will help. The bottom line is this: behave as you would like the other person to behave and give yourself some room to grieve.

What advice do YOU have for the newly-broken-hearted?

What’s Your Most Important Beauty Asset?

Believe it or not, self-confidence really is your most important beauty asset. If you doubt that fact, simply consider the career of Sarah Jessica Parker. On the power of sheer self-confidence, she packaged her crone’s nose and so-so features and somehow managed to convince the world that she is one of the great beauties of the ages.

Say it with me, all together now: “If Sarah Jessican can do it, so can I!”
-From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan, from Makeovers Can Be Murder by Kathryn Lilley

It’s true.

There’s this woman I know. I won’t use her name just in case she reads my blog. She’s a perfectly average woman. She’s also smart and funny and professionally successful and a good cook and a warm, loving woman. She is irreverent and she is quick witted. She is, all in all, an amazing woman. What she is not, my friends, is traditionally pretty. HOWEVER, women fall all over her. Seriously. She is a woman-magnet. She, like Sarah Jessica Parker, is so confident in her fabulousness (or as Kimora Lee Simmons says, her fabulosity) that everyone *else* believes she is fabulous, too.

It helps to have been raised by people who tell you relentlessly that you are fabulous. Not platitudes but who genuinely praise you when you do well on a project for school or tell you that you have eyelashes that other women would kill for or whatever is your particular strength. Most of us, though, didn’t have that.

It is my contention that the beauty industry could be felled by parents. I’m serious. Imagine if all of us told our children how fabulous they were in ways that were real and honest? I’m not suggesting that we ignore a child’s downfalls or that we don’t correct bad behaviors. No, I’m suggesting that we tell the child the truth: that they are fabulous.

Now that you’re an adult (or for some of you, nearly an adult), it’s up to you to correct that Internal Critic who tells you that you’re too fat or your nose is weird or whatever is your albatross. Embrace those supposed flaws and make them your *thing*. Think about Cindy Crawford and her mole or Lauren Hutton and the gap between her teeth. There is nothing wrong with whatever it is that makes you unique.

Me? Well, I have what is sometimes affectionately called “ghetto booty.” That means, for those of you who don’t know, that I have a lot of booty. It’s rounded from all the squats and lunges I used to do, among other things, but there is a lot of it. I could, I suppose, obsess about it and try to get rid of it, but it’s not going anywhere. I could weigh 125 pounds – and about 25 of it would be ass. Seriously. So, I embrace it. I wear jeans that call attention to it. I wear heels when I want to be sexy because in heels you have to walk so as to call attention to your backside. More than one of my lovers has found my rear to be one of my best body features. I tend to agree. One of them told me that I have a body like a 19th century saloon girl. I was sorta offended, as if they were saying I looked slutty because saloon girls had that reputation – but then I watched a movie with saloon girls. Guess what? I do have a body like a saloon girl. All tits and ass, to be perfectly vulgar. I’m not everyone’s shot of whisky but that’s okay. Not everyone is mine. It doesn’t mean that I am not fabulous – only that I’m not fabulous *for them* or they for me.

If there is something that you have that you really can’t stand, by all means, take care of it, just don’t obsess about it. I color my hair – I will die with dark brown hair, damn it. But I also make jokes about the silver hair that does show through, especially when I’ve slacked off about getting it colored. I call them my platinum highlights, since I also have golden ones. It’s okay to want to fool around with things to change what you don’t like, but please try to recognize that you are fabulous exactly as you are.

If someone else tries to tell you otherwise – remove them from your life immediately. No one needs a girlfriend who tells them that they are too fat or too skinny or too whatever. Find someone who looks at you as if they want to eat you right up. Promise me, pumpkins, that you will not allow anyone to rein in your light.

What makes you uniquely fabulous? Tell me about it. Even if you don’t tell me, you should know. You should always know that you are fabulous and why.

Like it or not, people do make judgments about us based on our appearance. We can accept that and try to present a good impression – or perhaps I should say an accurate impression – or we can pretend that we are above all of that. That latter is definitely an option but you have to deal with the consequences.

Giving some thought to how you want people to perceive you is a good idea. Do you present yourself in a way that is consistent with the image you want to project? Not all of us need to look the same or *be* the same, obviously. Stella McCartney certainly wants to present a different face to the world than Katie Couric.

Who do you want people to think you are?

What I do *not* think is that you should pretend to be someone you’re not – unless, of course, you’re in the “fake it til you make it” phase. Then, it’s really not so much being someone you are not as someone you aren’t quite yet.

There is more to it than how you look. If you know me, you know that I am smart, articulate, professional (in the right situation), poised, a good public speaker and other things that I was *supposed* to be so that I could do well professionally and all that. If you know me *personally* you know that I am also irreverent, slightly ghetto-fabulous, obsessed with skincare, can spot Christian Louboutin shoes from across the room (even though I can’t bring myself to spend $600+ on them), I am sometimes uber-femme, but I am also all woman. I’m definitely not a “girl”, though sometimes I call myself a girl when what I mean is feminine. I read lots of urban fantasy books (think witches, vampires, werewolves, oh my) and love hip hop and R & B and I sometimes think my mission in life is to refute Biblical idiocy, so I read about various religions and theology.

I tell you all that to say that I have been surprised to find out that people who don’t know me professionally don’t think I’m smart. I met a woman reasonably recently who thought I was ditzy & “way high maintenance.” Which, for the record, she considered a character flaw.

I am smart but I don’t always need to be “intellectual” (which should be read with a semi-sarcastic tone of voice). There are *still* women who think that feminine = ditzy. What-the-fuck-ever, man. Lesbians are as guilty of that as anyone – perhaps more so, given the prevalence of anti-butch-femme in the lesbian world at large.

What stunned me beyond belief once was when someone I knew professionally said that given my calm exterior, he couldn’t imagine me being out of control enough to have had a “misspent youth.” Really?

I will never tell you that you have to look a certain way, that you should adapt a cookie cutter approach to style or personality. I think the world would be a very boring place if we didn’t have the divas, the drag queens, the Goths, the science geeks and skater bois. I love all y’all!

What I will tell you is this: Ask yourself a question. Do you give people an *accurate* impression of you? Is the impression you leave with people working for you? If you wanna be a banker, goth probably isn’t the way to go.

As for me, given what I told you about the woman who foolishly thinks I’m uber-high-maintenance and not smart (and, no, for the record, this is not someone I’ve ever dated) and the man I knew professionally, I decided to work more at integrating both sides of me. Both are authentically me, but surely there is a way to combine bits of both so that I am appropriate to wherever I am but not so segmented. I’ll let you know how that goes.

How do you present to the world? What do you want people to think about you? Do you think you’re successful or do you still need to adjust?

I’ve been doing that.

Something happened in FairyLand that I didn’t really like. It was out of my control and I got angry. When I’m angry, the girl from da hood comes out. I want to hit people. I didn’t, actually, do what I wanted to do, which was hit someone in the face. That level of anger should have alerted me that this situation was bad for me. I am not a violent woman. I *don’t* want to hit anyone. In the moment, the fleeting moment, it might feel good, but the aftermath does not feel good.

The situation wound down, or so I thought, yet the anger persisted. New things happened, at least one other person got involved and I was so spun up that I said things that I don’t even mean. I said them because I was angry. No, that isn’t true. I wasn’t angry. I was hurt. I felt betrayed, both by the other person involved and by myself.

I won’t tell you all why I feel betrayed by her. I will tell you why I felt I betrayed my-own-self.

For a short time, for a few months, I was not true to who I am. I did not live my life the way *I* believe my life should be lived. I was judgmental and bitchy. I said things that bear no relationship to the things I value in my life. The conflict between what I believe and what I was doing left me vulnerable.

There are three quotes by which I live my life. They are:

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. – Mother Teresa

and

A woman should be two things: classy and fabulous. – Coco Chanel

and

Our thoughts are prayers. – a New Thought song.

I have forgotten that we all belong to each other, that we are all connected. I have not been classy or fabulous and I forgot that our thoughts are prayers. I acted as if what I was doing could be tightly controlled by me. I acted as if I was not connected to the others who would be affected by this situation and as if my choices didn’t affect them. It is never classy or fabulous to behave in ways that don’t align with your beliefs, still less so to lie to yourself about your behavior. To make excuses to yourself, to try to *justify* things that you *know* aren’t good for you, or good for anyone.

I have been living fully out of alignment with the way *I* think I should live my life, with the way that I normally am. I am normally peaceful and loving.

So, today, I sent a message of love to the person who hurt me, by whom I feel betrayed. I told her that I hoped she gets everything she wants, that she finds peace, and that she has a happy, healthy marriage.

I don’t really mean it. But I will keep saying it, keep praying it, until I do.

Yeah, it was like that.

It was a racially semi-diverse neighborhood but the majority of the residents were black. I am not. I am biracial but my birth father is Native American. My mom and adopted dad are just about as white as you can get.

Still, despite my nonblending appearance, I didn’t really stand out. It wasn’t that I tried to blend or whatever. I just *did*. These were my friends and all that, you know? I didn’t know anything different. The music of my youth wasn’t The Mamas & the Papas and the typical 70s groovy music or acid music, but Grandmaster Flash, Kurtis Blow, the Sugar Hill Gang, the Commodores and like that.

Then, when I was 15, we moved to Cedar (mother fucking) Springs, MI. Farm community. Where I did not blend despite being more visually similar.

Here’s an example of my not blending:

On my first day at the new school, I decided I should be more conservative looking, you know? I was pretty sure these kids didn’t dress like I did. So, I wore a black skirt (not too short, not leather), a white button down loose outside the skirt but belted w/ a wide belt that was slung around my hips, black hose (but not fishnet or anything) and black boots (knee high, about 2.5” heel, so not too high).

I almost forgot to tell you about my hair. Yes, the hair. Because that’s where I really attracted attention. I have no pictures of this hairstyle because my mother hated it and she said that if I wanted to look that ridiculous, then she did not have to record it for posterity.

What was the Mom-hated-hairstyle? Cornrow braids. But not Bo-Derek-in-10 cornrow braids. Nope, sugarplums, I had ghetto fabulous nearly-waist-length-with-beads cornrow braids.

People looked at me a lot. And, probably? Not in a good way. I ended up getting my hair cut shortly thereafter. I admit it. I succumbed to peer pressure. Or at least peer weird looks.

After that, I went to a private Catholic college. I learned to be a white chick at my high school but even more so at college. I mean, I’m not so malleable as to completely change my personality but I did need to be able to get along, you know?

But guess what? Every now and again my roots show. One of my friends pointed out to me that I, the Grammarian, frequently end a sentence in a preposition. I say all the goddamned time “Where you at?” Apparently, that is because of the ethnicity of my peer group when I was at my formative years. (Or so the friend in question – who was herself of that ethnicity – told me.)

Recently, I had a Twitter exchange that cracked me up for so many reasons.

Here’s how it went:

Me: and I have totally jacked your *blink blink*
Friend: You have jacked it? Translation?
Me: Oh, right. You don’t speak hoodrat. ‘Jacked’ means “I totally stole it.”

I catch myself saying things like “Well, I can be down with the simple life sometimes but I’m a fan of the Four Seasons” (hello? down with and the Four Seasons in the same sentence?) or “I jacked your *blink blink*” Sigh.

I expertly meld my White Girl with my Hoodrat and, every now and again, throw in some Indian for good measure. (Cause really? I can make frybread that will make you moan in gastronomic delight.)

You know that expression “You can’t go home again”? Sometimes, you can’t leave it either.

So all that is to say: whatever your roots, try to accept them. Bring them into your current life rather than trying to hide them. Because really? They’re gonna sneak up on you if you don’t.

Here are some clues:

1. You have essentially resolved your previous relationship. If you are still harboring a grudge against or holding a torch for your ex, you ain’t ready. Now, some of us have exes who have done pretty heinous things and I’m not saying you have to feel all warm and cuddly about them. No, I just think you can’t be harboring an active grudge. I have an ex (we lived together from 1994-1997) who I am not even willing to forgive, but I don’t think about her all that frequently and I really don’t wish her any ill. I’d say it’s resolved. If I ran into her in the mall, for example, I would neither avoid her nor seek her out. I feel pretty neutral about her.

2. You are not actively trying to resolve any issues (excuse the therapy-speak) you have. When you are trying to work out any childhood abuse, domestic violence or whatever it is, that is not the time to begin a new relationship. It’s hard enough to deal with those things without adding the stress of starting a new relationship. I’m not saying you have to be perfectly issue-free (because if that were the case, no one would ever have a relationship) but that you might want to wait to begin a new relationship until you have the energy to devote to it. Also, the more emotionally healthy you are, the healthier your relationship will be.

3. You have a life. Being in a relationship is about sharing your lives. If you don’t have one, you can’t share it. That can lead to a power imbalance in the relationship that gives all the weight to the other person. Power imbalances do not make for a healthy relationship. Have your own friends, your own interests, your own career, your own life.

4. You have considered the reality of having a relationship, not just the romantic parts. Are you ready to deal with someone else’s idiosyncrasies? I, for example, have a tendency to break out into random Elvis songs. (Yes, I am a now-not-so-closet Elvis fan.) I also have ADD and forget everything. I am simultaneously unobservant and the Queen of the Obvious. I am prone to fits of organization, which I then ignore. I twirl my hair. I have epic PMS. I want to do That One Thing at least three times a da.. I mean, week. I have a neurotic Chihuahua to whom I am unreasonably attached. I flat out refuse to ever, under any reason -short of TWO broken legs and possibly fractured ribs – refuse to do yardwork. I love fashion TV. I have an IQ of 134 but I am way more interested in reading fantasy than so-called literary fiction. I will correct your grammar. All of this is balanced by the fact that I am an excellent cook, I’m funny, I will take good care of you when you’re sick, your mother will adore me (even if she hates “the queers”) and all of your friends will wonder just exactly how you got such a hot woman. Also, I am modest. In any event, in addition to the good qualities you are looking for, you should consider what faults are live-with-able.

5. You have considered your deal breakers. There has to be something about which you know you feel strongly. For example, deal breakers for me would be racism in any of its incarnations, and someone who doesn’t like dogs. If you are willing to overlook any of your dealbreakers, you are completely unready for a relationship.

6. You can talk about sex, money and your feelings. Yes, I said your feelings. I think you don’t have to talk about them relentlessly (one of my ideas of a ring of hell) but if you can’t tell someone the most basic “When you did X, I felt Y and I would like Z” then you are not ready for a relationship. If you can’t tell your partner what you do and don’t like sexually, you are not ready for a relationship. If you can’t discuss your finances calmly (at least most of the time) and objectively, you are not ready for a relationship. Most couples fight about sex and money. To avoid fighting about them, you have to be able to talk about them. Okay, you might still fight about them, but you have a better chance of coming up with a solution if you actually discuss them. With feelings, if you don’t talk about them, they will come out sideways. Better to just talk about it. Even if you do end up having an argument, at least you’re arguing about what is really troubling you (thus leaving you with a chance at resolution) and not arguing over, say, whose turn it is to walk the dog.

   This isn’t an exhaustive list, I’m sure. How do you know that you’re ready to be in a relationship? What makes you hold off?

   ]]> http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/09/21/lll25/feed/ 9 http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/09/18/lll24/ http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/09/18/lll24/#comments Fri, 18 Sep 2009 14:29:49 +0000 FemmeFairyGodmother http://femmefairygodmother.com/?p=542 When I had my hysterectomy, I kept my ovaries. They say it’s better for all manner of reasons but there is one drawback.

   I still get PMS.

   Some months, it’s not bad. This is not one of those months. I can’t really describe how it feels physically. The best analogy I can come up with is this: you know how you feel when you only slept for 4 or 5 hours and you’ve had 3 three-shot espressos and you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday and it’s about 3 pm today? And how you’re all vibrate-y? Yeah. That’s kind of it.

   Everything gets on my nerves. Seriously. Everything. I get annoyed that people call me to say hello. I get annoyed that it’s taking my goddamned coffee too long to make. I get annoyed that all TLC has on is Jon and fucking Kate Plus 8 (which annoys the crap out of me even when I’m not PMS, so really? Do I want to watch it when I am? No, I do not) and all that the Style channel has on is freaking Clean House and I don’t want to watch that, EITHER.

   Given that I’m about to talk about her, I think you should know that The Ex reads this blog these days. She comments quite a bit, so I know she reads and she doesn’t just tell me she reads it. Anyway.

   The year was 1999. The Ex and I had been living together fewer than 2 months. It was Christmas. We had just returned from My Family Christmas Debacle. (Really, I love ‘em all but pretty much individually and not collectively. Well, except the one uncle. Him I can’t stand regardless.)

   The Ex had a sinus infection and I had raging, homicidal, stay-the-fuck-out-of-my-way-or-die PMS and I’d had to be appropriate with my family for hours. Hours. HOURS.

   The following words actually came out of my mouth without one bit of irony:

   “The Ex, if you are going to breathe that loudly, then go the fuck upstairs!”

   Yes, it’s true. She got yelled at. For breathing. Today, she thinks it’s hysterical. That day? Yeah, not so much.

   Fast forward about 9 years. Remember the cute Very Butch (now former) Girlfriend from the grill post? No? Okay, go back and click on the link to see the picture. I’ll wait.

   Anyway, VB(nf)G was sick. She has asthma, which is worse when she’s sick. She wheezes. I had PMS. Guess what happened? Yep. I fussed at her for breathing too loudly. At least this time I managed to get a hold of myself before I sent her home or out to sleep on the sofa.

   Not that long after, The Ex called while VB(nf)G was over and VB(nf)G snatched the phone right out of my mind to tell The Ex that she, too, got yelled at for breathing too loudly. They had a good chuckle out of it. Sort of a butch bonding moment.

   In addition to being completely hot and totally sexy (notice the sucking up), The Ex and VB(nf)G were actually pretty great about it, even at the time. I’m pretty sure all The Ex did was go the fuck upstairs (well, after rolling her eyes at me) and VB(nf)G offered to go sleep on the sofa (but I didn’t let her.)

   On the other hand, I actually did have to do some post-PMS sucking up because PMS, even homicidal PMS, is not an excuse to act like a jackass. It’s okay to be edgy and tense or whatever, but taking it out on the people around you is not okay.

   How you manage not to do that depends entirely on how severe your symptoms and your own personal preferences. In 2000, I started taking a medication to manage the symptoms, which worked very well until 2008 when I stopped taking it. I don’t remember why but I’m sure I had a reason. Oh, I know. I tried various homeopathic remedies. Those work well for some women but I am not among them. I need drugs so I thank God for American pharmaceuticals. As The Ex would say, “Better living through chemistry.”

   After the incident with VB(nf)GF, I started taking drugs again. Believe me, the world is a better place for it. Even on months like this one when it’s worse than usual. No one has been yelled at for breathing too loudly.

   PMS isn’t “just in your head” (or your girlfriend/partner/wife’s head, if you don’t happen to be someone who gets PMS.) It can cause havoc in a girl. You don’t have to automatically go to taking drugs. There are a number of homeopathic remedies that other women have found work quite well for them. Evening primrose oil is one of them, extra magnesium and calcium, Wild Yam. I didn’t try acupuncture or chiropractic (for that) but I’ve heard that, for some women, they are really helpful. I think I’ve heard that Black Cohosh works too but I’m not sure if that’s for PMS or hotflashes. I get both. (A total aside: my dad firmly agrees with the idea that no man should live long enough to witness both his daughter’s menarche and her menopause. THAT is more hell than any one guy oughta have to deal with!)

   In the meantime, it’s good to be prepared. Think about some ways you can manage the tension and stress until you get it sorted out. Like, at work, I would save in-office stuff for that week and work with my door closed. I would *not* schedule anything with my family that week because I was way too short-tempered. I tried to organize my life so that I could just be at home as much as possible. They say exercise helps but I haven’t tried that one yet. Though now that I think back on it, when I used to run, I’m pretty sure that did help. I imagine that going to a shooting range and blowing the crap out of a paper target would be therapeutic but I do not recommend actually buying a gun to anyone who gets more than moderate PMS. There is a reason for for these Tshirts!

   Oh, and if you are the partner of someone who has PMS? Don’t fuck with her. It. Is. Not. Funny. (For the record, both The Ex and VB(nf)G both had better sense than to do that!)

   Do you get PMS? What have you done to manage it?

   ]]> http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/09/18/lll24/feed/ 9 http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/27/lll23/ http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/27/lll23/#comments Thu, 27 Aug 2009 08:43:12 +0000 FemmeFairyGodmother http://femmefairygodmother.com/?p=310 The FemmeFairyGodmother has a confession.

   I am terrified of bats. Terrified. Not “Oh, those things are icky” but T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D. As in on the sofa, covered with a blanket, CANNOT move, sort of terrified.

   Guess what showed up at my house tonight?

   Yes. A freaking bat.

   I wish I could tell you that I sucked it up and dealt with it like the strong, competent woman I (normally) am but that would be a lie. I snatched a blanket off the back of the sofa, covered myself with it and, from under the blanket, commenced calling every single person I know who might be able to come and deal with the bat. And a couple who lived entirely too far away to do a damned thing about the bat. Of course, not a one of the local somebodies was at home. Or at least answering their phones at 11:15 pm on a school night.

   At my house tonight, there was, I’m sorry to say, screaming. Shrieks. General carryings on. It’s a phobia, thus irrational.

   Eventually, after I saw it fly into the other room, I got up, opened my porch door, opened the door to the porch, turned on the porch light, turned off my living room light and flung myself back on the couch. I screamed a few more times as the bat flew around before it decided outside was a much nicer place to be and flew outside. I closed and locked that door so fast it isn’t even funny.

   The Chihuahua? Didn’t even wake up.

   This isn’t the first time I’ve had bats in my house. The difference is that both of the other times, there was someone else to deal with the bat.

   There are a number of bat-like things that a single person has to deal with all on her own. If you’re newly single, it can be a challenge.

   Not long after I became single again and started living by myself – after damned near 8 years of being in a relationship – we had a very bad storm here. About half of the two acres of trees on our property wound up on the roof. The other half wound up damaging the foundation of the house. I only exaggerate slightly.

   Guess who had to deal with that? It wasn’t The Ex, who was safely in Oregon. Nope. It was me. Luckily, all I really had to do was call people to come and take care of it but I had NO IDEA where to begin. That would have been The Ex’s job, not mine. Dinner party for 6 in half an hour? I’m your woman. Tree on the roof? Not so much. But I did. The roof got fixed, the bathroom skylight got fixed, the foundation got fixed. All was well.

   Before you can be happily partnered, you must be happily single. Before you can be happily single, you may have to confront a bat or two. Whatever your version of a bat is. But you can do it. You don’t have to do it alone. You can call everyone in your telephone, you can huddle under a blanket on the sofa, screaming, nearly paralyzed with fear. Eventually, though, you will get up and do something. It doesn’t have to be the perfect thing but you will do something. The next time it gets easier and then the next time it gets still easier. You may never *like* dealing with the bats, but you’ll figure out something to do that involves (at least a little) less screaming.

   What are your bats? What do you need to confront? What scares you witless? Probably the best thing is to figure out what you might be afraid of and how you can deal with it. That is, figure it out before it happens.

   Tomorrow, I’m gonna get online and find out what to do to keep bats out of your house. Oh, and also? I’m probably gonna make some cookies for the police at the station across the street from me. Just to get on their good side. You know. In case I have to call them to deal with a bat.

   

   ]]> http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/27/lll23/feed/ 4 http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/18/lll22-2/ http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/18/lll22-2/#comments Tue, 18 Aug 2009 23:10:29 +0000 FemmeFairyGodmother http://femmefairygodmother.com/?p=302 When I first began my career in nonprofits, after a long time of working in credit management, I worked at an organization whose mission focuses on girls. I won’t say the name but you’ve all bought cookies from them, most likely.

   I was expressly forbidden to be out to any donor, to any parent, to any volunteer and, above all, to any girl. It went against everything I believed in but I justified it to myself by telling myself that I wasn’t really in the closet since I was out to the staff. It was difficult at the best of times but even more so when we had an advertising campaign that said we were for “all girls.” All heterosexual girls and all lesbians who kept their mouths shut, really. But I did it because I wanted to be a fund raiser and this was a great opportunity to learn from an excellent development director, so I sucked it up and put up with it.

   Until October 1998. I don’t remember the exact date that the news broke that Matthew Shepherd was brutally murdered for being gay but I remember clearly the impact it had on me. I wasn’t sure how I could live with myself if I stayed working where I was.

   Since the day I came out, I have believed that not hiding ourselves is a moral obligation that we all share but most particularly the adults among us. We owe it to our children – whether literally ours or figuratively ours – to show them that “gay” does not mean “sick” or “perverse.” Not to show the heterosexual world that we are “just like them” but to show the children, by example, that they can grow up to have happy, productive, healthy lives.

   It took me until the end of January but I quit my job. I didn’t have another one but I knew I couldn’t do it any longer, not and live with myself.

   Sadly, we still live in a world where being out is a dangerous decision for some people. I recognize that. I lost my children because I’m a lesbian. I get that there are risks. I know they are significant.

   I believe we have to take them because as long as we don’t, the risks will still be there.

   Some of you will say “I can’t be out.” Please don’t say that. Please say the truth: “I choose not to be out. I think the risks of being out are far greater than any benefit, so I make the choice not to do it.” Because the truth is, you could be. You’ve chosen not to. I will not judge you for making that choice, nor should anyone else. However, don’t give away the power of your own life. YOU are making that choice.

   For the rest of us, those who can but don’t, I ask you this: How are things going to change if we don’t? How are we ever going to have full civil rights in this country if we don’t come out? If we don’t stand up for ourselves?

   Matthew Shepherd died 10 years ago. This year, just this last week, a teenage boy was assaulted because he is gay. The world has changed – but the world hasn’t changed. What’s that expression? The more things change, the more things stay the same?

   You may think that by being out to your coworkers or your dentist or your dry cleaner that you have no real impact but you’d be wrong. What changes people’s minds about queers being freaks (and not in a good way) is because they know and love or care about someone who is gay.

   For whom in your life can you be that someone?

   ]]> http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/18/lll22-2/feed/ 12 http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/13/lll21-2/ http://femmefairygodmother.com/2009/08/13/lll21-2/#comments Thu, 13 Aug 2009 21:54:14 +0000 FemmeFairyGodmother http://femmefairygodmother.com/?p=298 According to Merriam-Webster’s, love is a noun first, then a verb.

   I think most of us forget that love is a verb. Love is a feeling verb, for sure, according to the dictionary definition. But if you’re going to be in a successful relationship of any sort, you’d better make sure that love is an action verb as well.

   To love someone is about more than how you feel. You can actively love someone and, trust me, when you do, they notice. You can love them by acting lovingly towards them, you can love them by doing things for them, you can love them by recognizing their needs and meeting the ones you can. Love is selfless, though not in a doormat sort of way. In my experience, when you love someone, you want the very best for them and you want to do what you can to help them have it.

   Loving isn’t limited to your partners, by the way. You can love your friends, love your parents, love your siblings, love your children.

   Actively loving someone is an act of gratitude to [fill in higher power name here] for bringing that person into your life. When you focus on gratitude, oddly enough, more good things start to show up in your life. Maybe they would have been there all along but because you weren’t focused on the good things, you might not have noticed them.

   Some of you know that for two years, I was a stay at home mom. I loved being a mama, I loved caring for my boys and my partner but it didn’t start out that way. I started out overwhelmed: two small children (3 and 6)when I’d had none? I had *white* furniture, for pity’s sake. My boys had been abused and neglected and had a string of physical and emotional diagnosis and needed so much care, love and healing. I quit my job to devote myself to their care. At first, it seemed like a huge sacrifice: I loved my job and I was kind of screwing up my career to leave my job when I did. I had choices. We could have hired a nanny, we could have done all sorts of things but what we decided was that the boys really needed the love of their mother, not a hired caretaker, so I left my job to be their mother. I have never once regretted that.

   Early on in my mama career, I read something in a book: “In all things, give thanks.” That struck a chord with me. I could continue to stress myself out over the white furniture and all the work I had to do, or I could buy a slipcover and focus on gratitude. I chose gratitude. Things turned around for me, then. I learned to love doing their laundry and folding their little undies and stuff. I began to enjoy finding creative ways to have yummy dinners that didn’t conflict with anyone’s allergies. No packaged foods for my munchkins – I even made ketchup, for pity’s sake. I used my daily housekeeping and caretaking as prayer and meditation. Thanking God for giving me these two precious babies to care for.

   After two years, for reasons that are too complicated to write here, I was no longer a mama and I was a single woman again. It is harder to find things to be thankful about but I do. Some days it’s “thank GOD this day is over” but that’s something.

   Actively loving means that I seek out ways to express the love I feel. When you actively love, people feel it, even if they can’t put into words what they are feeling. Sometimes it does involve a sacrifice, but most often, it is no more complicated than doing what you were going to have to do anyway, but looking at it as an opportunity to actively love. Sometimes it means going out to dinner when you’ve had a long day because your love needs a break. Sometimes it means writing a check for the lawn service because nobody wants to mow the lawn and it always results in a fight. Sometimes it means sending your love away to have some peace and quiet because they need it badly. Recognizing the need and doing what you can to help fill it. Not because you have to. Because you want to. Because you (actively) love them.

   What do you all do to demonstrate love?

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