Ask the Middle-Aged Lesbian: MAL Meets MAL

Dear Middle-Aged Lesbian,

I know this sounds cracked. Well, I should have known better, right? Here’s my sad tale: I had an ad up for Internet dating and so I responded to her when she wrote. Her story was she was footloose and fancy-free, almost, with a son she shared custody of who was in high school. Her ex-husband and she co-parented just fine. She lived about 40 miles away and though she’d love to invite me over, it would probably be better to travel to my location, as it had better restaurants.

So, we went out for dinner. As part of dinner conversation, I asked her when the last time she had been with a man was, and she firmly stated that it was well over 3 years ago.

The horn-dog in me overcame my usually cautious nature in such matters, and we slept together about 20 minutes after we finished our dinner full of double-entendres and footsie under the table. It was a night to remember, to be sure. And, had she not left her watch at my place, things might have been totally different. I always seem to have trouble with the one-night stand.

So, along we go. I did notice that somehow I never went to her place. And, oddly, she told me this story about needing to move in with her ex-husband for a while to save expenses. And, I only had her cell phone number.

One day, after a dawning of, “What the fuck?” and probing beyond the superficial, she told me that she had always lived with her ex-husband, that she really meant she hadn’t been with a man not 3 years ago ago…oh, no….not 13 months ago…no, no, but 3 months ago (not her ex-husband), and oh, gosh, did she mention she was not out anywhere—in fact, was not a lesbian at all, but decidedly bi-sexual. But, she would be coming out—she was getting there, really. She produced divorce papers and indeed she was divorced for 10 years and seemed to be waiting for her much older husband to drink himself to death to get all he had. Still, she was some pretty hot stuff.

I continued to see her. One weekend, I’d had it. She once again spent a long stretch unavailable by cell because she was home and couldn’t take the call. I packed up her crap and left her a message. I was bringing her stuff to her house. I was through. It was driving rain. Miraculously, she had gotten the message and left me 25 voice mails while I drove. Amazing how attentive she could be after all. I wouldn’t pick up. That would teach her.

I arrived in front of her house. I called her again. I said, she can either come out and get it or I’d put it in the back of her truck in the driveway. She whined and cried that she couldn’t come out and threaten her situation. I left the stuff in the truck bed.

She called me a month later and wanted to take me to dinner. She missed me. She missed how I made her feel.

I let her take me to a very expensive restaurant and told her, for all to hear, I wasn’t going to fuck her in exchange for dinner, but what a great dinner. She threw her purse at me. We rode back in silence, she slammed the door and off she went.

MAL, should I have written a thank you for the dinner anyway?

Signed,
Much Smarter Now (aka MAL)

Dear MSN,

Thank goodness you are much smarter now. It took you, what, eight years? I saw you driving through that town today—your face in the rear view was a dead giveaway. Now, since I was there and I remember this all very clearly, all I can say is that there is a reason you are now in a place to have an advice column. You’ve made every stupid move there is to make in the existence of dating as we know it. Good thing you finally let your brain participate in your relationships. Dumb ass.

Self Love to You, MAL

They Protect Their Dead

Magical Samantha suggested I put up a link to email for Ask the Middle-Aged Lesbian, so I have. If you have a question or a problem, don’t hesitate to ask the always nosy Ask the Middle-Aged Lesbian by clicking on the link above.

I’ve been to lots of Redwood forests—listen to me, the jaded Northern Californian all of a sudden. But, I never noticed the trees like I did this weekend. Funny that. No country girl I, yet I spent time just watching some horses. I yakked with llamas, skittered with some wild turkeys, and I bleated at some goats.

While paying attention, something I get too busy to do too often, I noticed that many of the Redwoods were growing in a circle. These circles would bump into other circles, but you could definitely see that each tree in this wood was part of a distinctive circle of related trees. In the middle of the circle of trees, invariably there would stand the shell of what was once a mighty and very old Redwood. Struck that they would, throughout the ages, protect the one that gave them life.

The pictures are here. We will skip the part about how Magical Samantha was laughing at her “naturalist” girlfriend trying to figure out if of the animal with the fuzzy hump on its back was a camel or a goat. Just for clarification purposes, a camel is much bigger than a goat and that goat in question definitely needed a hump haircut.

What Didya’ Do This Weekend?

 

T’weren’t a B&B, it was a watertower. Yup. A watertower. Long story, but back in the OLDEN days (back when you were young, I reckon…heh) every home and business had to have its own watertower. So, we turned right at the ocean off of Highway 1, and we follow these directions and go down this barely two-land road marked, “Not a through road.” We travel down that road for about 4 miles or so, knowing full well there are houses somewhere back off the road, because we see smoke coming from this chimney and that, but we can’t see the forest through the trees or something like that and then we turn right past the big watertower that provides the water for their fire station, such as it is, and go down another road, through a darker forest. The road slowly narrows, sometimes down to one lane, barely, because there are two Redwoods in the way – one on each side of the place they made the road. We see a sign that says, “Slow down,” which seems kind of fortuitous on a number of levels, and then the road becomes dirt (or mud in this case). Choosing which of the three roads that forked in front of us, we decided to take the one less traveled. We coasted through a gate and into a meadow in the midst of which was our watertower. I’ll post pictures tomorrow, but it was incredible – what, besides the honeymoon being over in one way, but just starting in another and – out one side of the house we looked at majestic Redwood forest and the other, a pasture with goats and a meadow where all the sun seemed finally able to focus – it had to find its place - it sure wasn’t getting through those Redwoods.

I fell in love this weekend.

A Bad, Bad Case Of The Stupids X 10

Recently, I was conversing with a friend who told me that her ex was moving out, but that she was going to let her keep a key, just in case.  It sent me into double-Hell-flashback to a time when I gave a key out to someone I was dating, whom I figured would never use the key, and really didn’t expect her to need to use the key.  Yeah, yeah, and I hoped it would also score me additional getting laid points, I confess.  I was younger then, and I thought I could get away with a lot more than I now know to be true.

So, I go on my merry way after giving the key up, telling her that if she needed to get away from her situation, feel free to “use the spare room.”  Friday night was coming up quickly and I had plans to meet with my hot, sensuous little ballerina girl from Santa Cruz (when she danced up close to you, made you feel as though the earth moved and the heavens parted and who was so limber I still cannot speak of it without weeping). A few friends would join us because a dance floor was just calling our names.  The girls all arrived and we loaded into my car when I realized, after our dinner out, that I needed my credit card and ID for the club.  I swung by the house, and went into the kitchen to grab the wallet.  Several things seemed to be out of place, and I immediately sensed danger.  I quickly scanned the rooms, until I happened upon a very naked, sleeping woman in my bed.  Normally, this would have been a happy occasion, but noooo, it had to be the worst timing ever.

I jumped into the car and said casually, “Um, I seem to have a naked woman in my bed.”  They all laughed and said things like, “Oh, sure…so, why are you here?”  I reiterated that indeed, there was a naked woman in my bed.  I was mildly shell-shocked.   Eventually, they believed me, but the little ballerina glared at me with a “What the Fuck” look on her face. Impending doom.  My sense of optimism told me that somehow this would all work out before the evening ended and the little ballerina and I were scheduled to return to my place.

The hours went by until we were all danced out.  I dropped the girls at their cars and headed up to the apartment with the little ballerina.  I checked the bedroom.  Damn.  The woman was still there, still naked, and the little ballerina was still pissed.  She insisted I tell the woman to move out of my bed into the kids’ temporarily empty room.  I declined. 

What I did do will go down in infamy as the worst series of errors in judgment of my life.  I pulled out two pillows and two blankets.  The little ballerina got the couch, and can I just say she was just shy of having steam come out of her ears.  I got the floor.  And when the naked woman rose after hearing our activity, she yelled at both of us after I declined to join her in my room and stormed out—my key flying into the door, along with multiple profanities even I was not familiar with—I’m guessing she sensed that the little ballerina had motives less than pure, as did I.  So, she’s gone and I’m thinking, maybe, just maybe I still have a shot with the little ballerina tonight—boy, was that stupid. The little ballerina went into the bedroom and slammed the door.   At least I got the couch. 

I learned several things that night.  Next time, suggest that the three of us just share that comfy big old bed.  No, no, no, that’s not it.  Perhaps it was more like for someone who had the potential for two sure-fire things in one night, I was deservedly left alone for that night and many more and honesty is always the best policy.  Yes, that’s what I learned.  But, I’m telling you, my friend—don’t let her keep the key.  No matter what you think to be true, there’s a very good chance this will come back to bite you in the ass. 

We are finally driven to monogamy not by morality but by exhaustion
~ Erica Jong

Chemistry Meets Guidelines

First, be sure to go over and catch The Drowning Pisces’ series on women this week.  The first installment was terrific!  There’s a new blogger out there who is both a new member of the Cap’ns crew and part of the Posse at Happy Hands Ranch.  She’s pretty cool!  Oh, and remember, send your question to Ask the Middle-Aged Lesbian – talk to me, baby!

I’ve been a little wrapped up in working with that LGBTQ project down in Arkansas the last few days.  I can’t wait to see how things work out for them.  They have a lot of enthusiasm and it’s an extremely needed service.  Thanks to all who were kind enough to donate either money or time/counsel to this very worthy cause.

How exciting will my weekend be?  I get to go away.  For a whole weekend.  To beautiful Mendocino County on the north coast with Magical Samantha.  Without kids.  Without dogs.  Where the only thing to do is each other and listen to the ocean and sit around the hot tub by candlelight.  It’s our first weekend “away’ – no dogs, no kids, no kitties, no e-mail, no blog, no pressure.  I hope they have a place to plug in the HMW though, don’t like to have her too far away.  Uncle Doreen is my savior on making it all possible – I bow to her – she’s staying her for two glorious nights to make sure the kids don’t dial too many 900 numbers or download expensive Internet porn. 

When we first started dating, Magical Sam had a formula of “guidelines” that led her in the process.  The basic guideline was no more than one date per week and no sex for at least 10 dates—if everything went really well.  I was willing to play along.   My imagination had run amok—why not have a little buildup?   In fact, I was the perfect angel.  So unlike me.   Plus, it turned out, I was really digging her big time.   But, Chemistry hadn’t met Guidelines.  She has a committee she consults (can you say Sybil?)  on these things, and somehow she, her committee, and her sister managed to rationalize combining phone calls, e-mails, and other forms of contact to give us credit against dates we had yet to have.  Somehow we made it to, I think, date 4 or 5.  Chemistry wrestled the hell out of Guidelines – pinning them to the mat, for a count lasting a lot longer than 10.

So, here we are, about four months later and about to head out on our first-ever weekend away and she says, “This is a little early for a weekend, according to the guidelines.”   I said to her, after realizing I still haven’t seen these mysterious guidelines that are ruling my life, “Honey?  What the fuck?  I’ve explored every inch of your body multiple times and you’ve met my kids.”  It was clear my own personal “Star Wars” program had to be launched, and defense budget be damned—Guidelines, here comes Chemistry.

Screwing Off, Part Deux

Happy 2008!  I hope the new year brings you all you wish it to bring!

I stayed up until 12:03 last night, party on!  Then, I passed out cold from fatigue as I started the morning with Gina the 60-pound alarm clock on my chest at 5 am again.

I took Magical Samantha down to the Old Sacramento (the historic original “downtown” post gold-rush 1850s Sacramento) area yesterday where we checked out the old one room schoolhouse and she got to play schoolmarm—if it hadn’t been a public place, that little game might have gone a little differently. 

And, we checked out the Wells Fargo museum and ATM.  Seriously, there is all this historical stuff—old telegraphs, saddle bags from the Pony Express riders, gold ingots from the gold rush, lots of stuff to read and look at and an sitting right in the middle of it all sits a single ATM machine.   

They have a new hat shop in Old Sacramento which really excited me – Magical S. tried a lot of those on as I snapped away.  I was thinking about a fedora – and found one I loved, but maybe next time.

 

Uncle Doreen joined Notorious B.E.N., who flew in yesterday afternoon, Magical Samantha and I as we played some epically bad games of pool and laughed our arses off over some pretty juvenile stuff (like acorn squash breast enhancements —Notorious B.E.N. walked out into the kitchen and took one look at me and ran away).  This was sober.  As always, Ben was happy to get his requisite hugs and kisses from mama.

I have to go back to work tomorrow.  And, I didn’t get a damned thing done while I was on vacation.

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. ~ Oprah Winfrey

Me, My Mattress & I

I spent a long stretch of time with Magical Samantha over the holidays and went away finding that I’m enjoying those companionable little moments beyond the frenzy and fuss of “dating” with her. What I really like is that she never fails to let me know that hanging out with me is high on her priority list. She’s got a busy life too and I like that carving this time out for each other is making us both feel pretty special. I’d forgotten what that is like. And, as much as I loved waking up all wrapped up in her, I’m still having a mad, passionate relationship with my own mattress. Tonight’s the night, baby, mama’s home!

I mentioned a friend of mine died. I didn’t know what happened or what I could do to connect with the family. Through a series of gyrations reminiscent of my days as an intelligence analyst, I did a human intelligence recon which required a Spanish translator, a trip two hours away, and with the help of lots of people who had absolutely no reason to help but did anyway, I connected with two of the three people who had the information I needed–people I did not previously know. My calls to those two people were met with disbelief but relief as they had both been looking for me as well. I think maybe we all had an opportunity that none of us had previously to connect with others who knew my friend. Betty—you were seriously loved, hope you knew that.

I’m spending tomorrow morning painting at my buddy’s place. Hopefully, I’ll be back in the groove later this weekend.

News Of The Vacationing

Berkeley also has this thing where when you want to throw something out - like a shirt despite how hole laden and unwearable it might be - or a pair of slightly dog-chewed slippers, you put it out in front of the sidewalk so someone else can pick it up and use them.

I’m trying not to feel bad that my ever-so-attractive slippers (replaced with beautiful fuzzy new ones by Magical Samantha this year) sit alone and unwanted by even those without slippers three days after Christmas.

We went to the Monterey Aquarium yesterday. Been near it, around it, by it, over it and under it, but this time actually went there. It’s very cool. I fell in love with some otters. If I was going to come back as another animal, that’s what I’d choose - except that whole getting eaten by sea lions thing.

Checked my work email and nada. I guess they meant it when they said they’d give me an actual vacation. Headed back to the ranch today. Relaxed, rejuvenated, and all needs having been tended to.

Small Lessons In Life

Magical Samantha is very involved in the Latino community due to her interests and her vocation. So, Sunday night we attended Spanish Mass at a church in the Bay area so we could see a play where a child she knows was to play Joseph. The play portion was canceled, but we did attend the Mass. Of course, I was clueless about what exactly was said, but got the gist. Mass seems to be Mass, in any language.

As the people were leaving, child after child ran up to Magical S., hugging her. I was introduced to parents and grandparents. Finally, the stream of people dissipated, and, because the play was canceled, we went to the boy’s house to give him and his sister’s their Christmas presents. Again, I did not speak the language, but got the gist. Kids are kids, it seems, in whatever language.

With more presents to drop, we traveled from neighborhood to neighborhood over the next two days. On Christmas Eve, we spent the evening with the large family of her comadre and compadre. Magical S is godmother to one of the children and was asked if she would serve as godmother to the baby on its way. This is a much bigger deal than the godparent gig I grew up understanding.

The family matriarch and patriarch looked over their brood proudly. Tears filled the grandmother’s eyes as she looked over them all during the prayer before dinner. Never have I felt like such an honored guest in someone’s home. I ate fabulous traditional food and met about 40 people (fortunately the non-immediate family was not in attendance–I’d have had a meltdown trying to remember names). Though they did not speak my language, graciousness is graciousness in any language.

Then, I got to participate in Las Posadas, the reenactment of Mary and Joseph trying to find lodging at numerous inns and being turned away, ultimately finding refuge. There is a whole routine for this observance that includes finally arriving at the inn and being let in–all in call and answer song. I got to be one of those inside that inn–as the people came streaming in, they were all smiling and full of love of family and their God. Though this is not my faith and this was not my family, and I didn’t speak their language, it seems that families are families in any language.

I learned a lot these past few days. I met a lot of hard working people who weren’t all necessarily documented. I started to barely, but truly, understand the concerns they have and the struggles they endure on a human and emotional level. Why coming to the United States is so important to many. And, what they contribute to our communities. Hard work is hard work, in any language. And, the desire for a better life is universal.

I always say that people need only know some gay people before the fact we are gay no longer matters. We become people–individuals they know, like, or respect. We are moms and dads and friends and neighbors. Maybe if we all sat with our immigrant neighbors in each other’s homes and shared a simple evening of family and tradition, whether we speak their language or not, we might stop seeing the differences and see all the similarities.

I support concrete and progressive immigration reform based on three primary criteria: family reunification, economic contributions, and humanitarian concerns.~ Senator Jeff Bingaman, D-New Mexico

Converting To Berkeleyism

I’m a liberal getting an ongoing even more liberal and eco-friendly education. Hanging out in Berkeley is bound to bring change in a regular visitor. I mean, the sheer force and willpower of 100,000 of the most liberal people in the US is bound to have impact. I don’t ask for bags at stores and have purchased a number of cloth bags. Of course, the question is always whether I remember to bring the cloth bags when I go into a store. I usually find it in the back of my car as I stumble out with armfuls of loose goods because my guilt for even contemplating using a plastic bag would be too great. I’m working very hard to kick my plastic bottle habit. It’s tougher than I thought it would be. I think one of the big pharmaceutical companies is developing a pill for it though.

My refrigerator is filling with organic items, despite what my scientist date told me some time ago; go here if you’ve forgotten. I’m buying produce from local growers instead of the grocery store. The thought of chicken pumped with steroids makes me quite ill. I signed a petition yesterday to get an initiative on the ballot to be kinder to our farm animals. It will, of course, fail—as agri-business is big business here in the Central Valley where I live (and California is not a blue state, but pretty much split down the middle coastal/valley), but I’m sure those behind the drive will try again and again until it doesn’t.

Whereas I was a “good” recycler before, I’ve become rabid in my diligence. I usually only have two bags of actual garbage a week now in the entire household. That’s a huge thing coming from a point where we had mounds and mounds of garbage each week that often sent the gargantuan garbage bin into overflow.

I drove in Berkeley yesterday instead of walking and felt the urge to go to confession, though I’m not even Catholic.

But, I knew the transformation must coming along nicely yesterday when Magical Samantha helped me with this project:

Liberalism is, I think, resurgent. One reason is that more and more people are so painfully aware of the alternative. ~John Kenneth Galbraith