Shit I like: Paparazzi, and any and all Lady GaGa

Notice the background...soooo gay.

This post needs to be written. Correction: this post needed to be written, like, weeks ago when I first realized that the mastermind behind ‘Poker Face’ was also the mastermind behind ‘Just Dance’ (btw: my life anthem) and ‘Love Game’. And then I watched the videos to the aforementioned songs at least a million times. And then I watched them another million times. And then I discovered ‘Paparazzi’, and now it’s all over. I’m totally a GaGa fan (fuck what you haters think), and I’m so excited about going to her concert with b. We’re going to have…a blast. I don’t know if he really WANTS to go, but I told him that we’d get super trashed and that it should be gayer than Britney.
Her album’s waaaay funky and she is totally bizarre. She’s not even strange- she’s bizarre (have you seen the video to Paparazzi????) but she’s just such a good time, and it’s taking all my self control not to spend those 30 euros and go see her in Munich next month
Anyway, when I DO go to her concert, it’ll be the first real concert I’ve ever attended– I dunno, she gets me that hyped.

In other news, I might be going out with h. and her friends again. h. is the daughter of one of the women in my choir, and she’s a German blonde and TONS of fun!!!! Her friends are way cool/really nice too. And I’m doubtless sure that we’re going to the straight clubs again. I know, I know : ::see earlier post:: : ‘but don’t the straight clubs make me want to kill myself?’ They totally do, but these kids are waaaaay fun and super nice. I think I might have to choke back the horniness and go out with the straights, and then come back home and report my devastated, suicidal thoughts. I’m wondering: is there a category of ‘Intervention’ for people like me????

My Ladies-

This post isn’t really about ‘gay shizz,’ but it’s totally about woman shizz. I’ve been catching up on the things that are currently going on in Iran, and I am astounded by Iranian women. This isn’t new, people. Their actions are in no way new. The women of Iran have been fighting this way for decades…at LEAST since the 70′s and the overthrow of the Shah, and they’ve been jailed, raped, beaten, and killed for their political activity.
We in the West are often fed tales and images of women in full-body veils who passively have their lives dictated by a culture that is religiously fanatical and men who seem…misogynistic in their regard toward women at best. I just want to take this time to salute these AMAZING Iranian women- they’ve been thrust into our living rooms and our consciousnesses, and I can feel the blood racing inside to think of an Iran that liberates itself- NO HELP FROM THE US- but an Iran that crafts its own identity that merges history, culture, liberty, and religion as it sees fit.
I look forward to the end of the Ayatollahs. Maybe one day queer women too will be able to breathe free??? But here’s hoping.

The Problem with Straight Clubs….

Going to the straight club is like spending an evening eating an entire gallon of cookies-and-cream ice cream. with chocolate syrup. an entire gallon. Afterwards, you WILL want to die. That’s the straight club. You love it during- you get absurdly drunk with your girls, listen to some Lady GaGa (I don’t give a fuck what you think about her…bitch is genius) and next thing you know, the room is spinning, and everything is alright. JUST DANCE, bitch.
Then you go to the straight club. It’s an amazing world of bright colors. Women are EVERYWHERE. Wearing glitter, strapless tops, leggins, jewelry, smelling AMAZING. The alcohol has hit your blood stream, and all you want to do is party. with these girls. With glitter and glam and soft skin and (you imagine) softer lips. Dare you imagine hooking up with one???? Your heart dances with images of sex and sounds from waaaaayyyyyy hot women. Life can’t get any better than this (sidenote: I kind of miss the days when children got excited about lemon drops and McDonald’s on Fridays. Growin up’s a bitch.) So you’re dancing, and jumping. Make eye contact with someone sweet, dance with her.
Grinding. Chest-to-chest. Your head’s full of sweet smells, soft skin, and strobe lights. Then the song changes: enter her man. Big muscles, smelling like AXE. American Eagle cargoes. 6 foot, whatever-the-fuck. And some drunken twin of his decides to post up on you because he thinks your hot and…you forgot…it’s a straight club.
After ducking into the bathroom to recover your air, you come back to see her tongue- which you’ve been imagining all night down your throat- down his. Right. This is a straight club. By this point, the strobe lights are blinding, the fact that your head is swimming is getting on your nerves, and since it is probably about 3 in the morning, all the (straight) couples on the floor are making out. With each other. And you don’t belong. And you go home to your facebook and your McDonald’s. Again. And you want to die.

A Teenage Love Affair

Dating women has opened my mind to the different KINDS of relationships there are/should be. There’s the: ‘we belong together/through thick and thin’ type, and the ‘great love/raising kids/last’ type, and the ‘we never should have gotten together but the sex is AMAZING’ type, and the ‘rebound. I loved her, but she broke my heart’ type, and then the ‘teenage love affair/first love’ type.
I was thinking about the lyrics to Alicia Keys’ Teenage Love Affair, and that’s EXACTLY what I want. It makes me laugh: it appears my therapist was right on all manner of levels; I’m an adolescent, and what I want is a teenage love affair. I want what I didn’t have in high-school, you know? I want to meet someone and hang out and be friends and be attracted to them/they be attracted to me. I want to kiss in the dark at some party and have text message conversations. I want to kiss sweetly and gently and touch on someone’s couch. Eventually, I want to go all out/have sex, but I don’t want the ‘burden of performance’ of the collegiate interaction. Hooking up in college can be rough- people expect you to know what you’re doing. I want to explore with another explorer, you know? Take my time. I want to giggle- lots- and take field trips and be SOBER so I can BE NERVOUS (which is another thing that we collegiates tend to not be). I want to carve her name in a tree and talk about books and the future, and fall madly in love, and look into her eyes for, like, years, and it not work out. I don’t want a domestic partnership. I want soft hips and soft skin and teenage…haha. I want my brother’s opportunities as a 22/23-year old woman, because I’m not in a rush…I just really want that lightness and optimism and childishness that’s in the ‘Teenage Love Affair’. I included some of the lyrics, so you could get an idea:

Another secret meeting
On the 5th floor stair case
I’m wanna give you this letter
Of all the things I cant say
Want you to be my first my last my ending and beginning
I wrote your name in my book
Your last name my first
I’m your Mrs.

When the lights are on outside
Could you find somewhere to hide
Cause I just don’t want to say goodbye
Cause you are my baby baby

Nothing really matters
I don’t really care
What nobody tell me
I’m gunna be here
It’s a matter of extreme importance
My first teenage love affair

Hey boy
You know I really like being with u right?
Just hanging out with you is fun

So maybe we can go to first base
Because I feel you
Second base
Want you to feel me too
Third base
Better pump the breaks
Well baby slow down
I gotta go home now

Cause the lights are on outside
Wish there was somewhere to hide
Cause I just don’t want to say goodbye
Cause you are my baby baby

Me and mad-butch girlies…

This is a post that I can confidently say I’ve been writing for a while. I actually started this post around Spring Break time, and I didn’t actually finished it, because all things take time. But I’ve been considering this issue of myself and identity and mad-butch girlies for some time: in other words, this post needs to be written.
I never thought seriously about this until I became acquainted (through a number of random sightings/coincidences) with a girl I’ll call ‘locs’. She’s very butch. She’s very hot. She’s not a stud, but she’s totally a dyke, and that sexuality is worn STRONGLY in the way she carries herself, in her clothes, in EVERYTHING. She’s the kind of girl who’s gayness probably attracts lots of other girls (like me), and plenty of straight ones (I’m sure). I fantasized about this girl (translation: I fantasized about getting fucked by this girl) in lots of places: at the bar, in a car, at home… whatevs. But I could never bring myself to see in my mind’s eye making love to her. I could never imagine fucking her. I couldn’t even imagine dating her- in public. I could only imagine her the way I’ve fantasized about dozens of men: in bed…that’s all.
I can already see dating, and making love, and raising kids, going shopping, and going out, and having pillowfights/dinners/movie nights with women who are plain-old-regular-gay like me, but mad-butch girlies? I just…it’s just not me.
Th. and I were talking one day about another girl we know and we got on the subject of mad-butch girlies, and she said: ‘there’s something to be said for someone who looks super gay…’ and she’s totally right: there is something to be said for those girlies- they probably get mad play, and they deserve it: they way they present/carry themselves probably also makes them the target of MAAAAD homophobia.
I get no play (I got no swagger), but I’m never the target of homophobia…most people just see the black and leave me alone. So I salute the mad-butch girlie: she’s got courage all her own, and probably has buckets of swagger. Every once in a while she turns me on, but as far as the ‘long-haul’ is concerned: I like ‘em feminine and sassy/crazy/a little out of control…but that’s a whole nother post.

This is totally a stereotype, but it makes me laugh!!!

Reflections

I was taking a minute to look over some things in the ol’ blog, and I stumbled across the very first post I made: http://jrg42.wordpress.com/2009/02/09/u-people-life-affirmation/
The font was all wrong, so I went through to clean it all up (you know how much I love uniformity), and I actually took the time to read that post. I smiled. It might seem a little ‘full of myself’ to take pleasure in my own words, but I did. I’m in such a manic phase in my life: sometimes most of the time I feel so confident about the woman I’m becomming, and then other times I feel so alone as I’m laying in bed at night, crying, wishing that I had never met her.
But this post gave me a little peace. I’m coming full circle; getting over her. I’m getting my sense of humor back in my posts (they don’t have such a lugubrious tone anymore) and I’m talking about other women…OTHER THINGS!
It’s only been three months, but it’s been a really rough three months, but I’m just glad I had that post to remember and reacquaint myself with the hopeful and cute little brown-skinned lesbian that saw that amazing documentary.
As a side-note, I’m currently trying to grow my hair back out. I don’t tell my friends this, but up until Fall, 2008 I had locks, and they weren’t really growing right (in my usual over-zealousness, I put too many products in them, and things weren’t going too well). One day, during Latin class of the Fall semester, I couldn’t take it anymore and I went home and cut them all off; I then proceeded to shave my head. There was a lot going on then, and part of that was a sort of identity crisis was that I wanted to look like someone else (translation: I wanted to look more gay). Hehe. This has been an incredible year, and one of the many things I’ve accomplished is indeed looking a hell-of-a-lot more gay. There. Gay accomplished, and statement made. Now, looking through some photos, I want my hair back. Growth is a beautiful thing– I don’t need to wear my sexuality on my head.

‘The Californian’

Timing is a bitch, okay? Timing…is a…BITCH. I don’t even need to start on ‘j.’ I mean, why? You already know that sordid tale.
I was on Facebook today, and I saw that ‘the californian’ had updated her status or something. There is…a..FUCKING BEAUTIFUL girl. Who I was totally attracted to- I just didn’t KNOW I was totally attracted to her. Wrong place; wrong time. If I were me now…a year ago? OMG these women! She’d have been my straight girl crush of the summer, and we were in GREECE? aw man… once again: good practice. I don’t really think the forces of nature are against me or anything…I don’t think anyone has it out for me…but SOMETIMES when I think about timing it makes my brain hurt to know what stunningly beautiful opportunities I’ve just…missed out on.
And yet in all that, I’m grateful for the timing that is. I’m 22 (I was 21) during this path to self-realization. It could have been a lot worse- I could have been divorced with kids, or even a spinster at 53. That would have been so sad (not knocking all you gals who came out at 53 after the divorce and the kids). These are wonderful years to be young and gay- everything’s so full of optimism and there are so many decades of good loving in front of you. Not to mention the PRIDEs. SOOOOO many prides. And youthful foolishness, like the drunkenness of your college years- who wants to be straight during that? And the gay bars and the vocabulary, and the L Word!!!! I’ve got amazing friends at school and I’m learning all these things when everyon’e young, gay, single, and drunk.
Yet with all that said, each time I look at ‘the Californian,’ or ‘New York’ (will tell you about her soon) or ‘j.’ and think of what might have been (even if only for a couple of weeks), I’m like: god-DAMN. Timing…is…a BITCH.

Oh SHIT…it’s a Straight Girl Crush

I don't even know what this MEANS. Doesn't that mean you're gay? A little?

Her name… is c. I first saw her the night of our Faust show on December 8th (the Friday before finals). The girl is a classically stunning brunette with an amazing pear-shape (you know how I love those) with green/blue eyes set off by rather long dark lashes.
She’s beautiful, and for some random reason she’s here…in Augsburg…to do a show with some fellow theater/Augsburg theater people. I didn’t forget that I had met her…she didn’t forget that she had met me. I of course sent out all of the obligatory lesbian: ‘I really want to get with you signals’ and she finds me intriguing (not fascinating…yet) but intriguing and funny, and does the whoe girlie: ‘hit your arm because that was REALLY funny thing’…I’m really not that funny. It gives me some hope.
And she’s the sweetest girl ever. She’s like…nice. And she thinks I have acting talent and whatnot- we’re going to be friends.
I know you’re probably thinking: ‘Oh…Janelle… stay away from straight women…’ but why? If she’s not into me then it’s great flirting practice, and if she IS into me??? She’s not one of those self-loathers, so if she’s not into me it won’t be like: ‘eeewwww god, GROSS, all hands on deck and BURN the dyke;’ it would be more like: ‘i’m really flattered, but….’ More importantly, I can hone my girl flirt skills so that by the time I get to all these lesbian spring breaks/street parties, I’ll have that Cassanova status…maybe?
So…needless to say, I’m going to just be around (especially in environments where inhibitions are lowered) and just be around. I’m totally into her- she’s beautiful- why not- her straightness doesn’t have to stop me from a kiss or two…or ten, does it? And you know how much I love pear-shaped women.

From The Iranian

I want to share yet another affirming piece of literature that I stumbled upon while navigating through the unending wealth of Internet LGBTQ paraphernalia. This comes from a very erudite Iranian woman named Chub Dosar-Gohi, and it comes from a talk that she gave in November, 2003, at a conference on Homosexuality. Here’s the web address:

http://www.iranian.com/ChoobDosarGohi/2003/November/Talk/.

This is one of the most refreshing articles on the subject that I have yet encountered for a number of reasons:
1. She’s an Iranian lesbian, and anyone who knows me knows I have this childish/teenagerish weakness for Iranian women, and women who speak Italian.
2. She writes about the amazing experience of ‘becomming’ and then ‘unbecomming’. This is one of the amazing and dynamic things about being ‘queer’ identified…one of the things I love about being a ‘queer’ person. It’s something that’s not included in the gigantic politically/culturally-laden title of being a ‘lesbian’. She writes about how we take steps that enhance our ‘gayness’ or our ‘membership in (x) identity’…this is the ‘becomming’ and then she writes about how we take steps that move us away from our ‘membership in (x) identity’…that’s the ‘unbecomming’ part. We’re waves that break against a shore and then are pulled STRONGLY back out to sea as we become and then unbecome.
3. She wrote about the ‘identity’ of the women she had relationships with. I have a hard time actually moving and initiating relationships with women because I always limit myself. I have this way of operating under the assumption that everyone’s straight (thus never opening myself to a potential person), and then I always look for women who assert the ‘identity’. I always shop…hahaha…in pools of ‘queer’ women when looking to meet someone. This woman’s simple words about her own relationships opened my eyes to something rather obvious. WOMEN ARE EVERYWHERE, and she had relationships with them regardless of their ‘identity’. Their ‘identity’ is a signal more about their relationship with the outside world and society, and it could very well have absolutely nothing to do with me. They could very well be straight as I make love to them and wake up next to them. You’re probably thinking: ‘duh,’ but thinking outside of the box is very hard for me

…and some cummings

I know, I know…I should be writing actual blog entries about the whats, whos, wheres, and whens of my journeys, but I consider this blog to be a journey of my soul, and sometimes the soul journes in whats/whos/wheres/whens, but sometimes it travels across the ocean after encountering a single poem.
This is precisely what happened to me today as I was basking in the beautiful weather and the beautiful trees and birds at La Commedia on the Goegginger Strasse. I was having the perfect lunch (a cheese pizza, no less) and was reading ‘Reading Lolita in Tehran,’ and I came across a poem by ee cummings, titled: ‘somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond…’
I read it. And then re-read it. and then re-read the last two stanzas. And then my eyes filled iwth unanticipated tears on this beautiful day on my beautiful trip in Germany, because it made me remember how completely I fell headlong into her eyes time and time again…the only forces I have ever encountered that could actually stop time. Not because she’s beautiful…she’s not…but because the soul in me reacted to soul behind those eyes, and I wanted her there with me.
It’s going to be a long road getting over the ‘faithless Daisy Faye’- enjoy.

somewhere i have never travelled (ee cummings)

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

or if your wish be to close me,i and my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;