Lesson learned, I swear!

That lesson being: "Never try to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves."

(Please note, there isn't one thing that's been exaggerated for effect and not one lie in this entire blog)

I mean, sure, in the beginning these types of people act grateful, say 'thank you' and tell you how much they appreciate everything you've done for them. They show signs of hope.  It spurs us on.

It was after those first few twinges in my gut when I started doubting stuff- that I'd like to kick myself in the ass for NOT paying closer attention to the red flags.

I have a circle of 13 solid friends, plus my entire family who all pitched in to give a young girl a chance just about 2 years ago. Money, food, clothes, advice, tips, help, rides, holidays, trips, and finally an actual roof over her head and a huge break on renting on my place, for her taking care of it and my cats.  After all, it was doing me a huge favor having her there. It allowed me to be able to move to England and be with my wife. We felt blessed to have someone there, that we knew, trusted, and now knew the ropes and was on a seemingly good track.

                                                                   

For 9 months, before I moved to England, I taught her the basic routine of caring for the cats, cleaning the place, checking the a/c unit, what to do with mail, how to work the washer & dryer, where the fuse box was, who to call in case of repairs, what to do for any given situation, pretty much. She saw how I worked 8-9 hours a day, came home, handled my household responsibilites, cared for the cats, paid my bills, and still had time for family & friends. She needed to find a job, make a budget, and get her life started.  She seemed anxious about it. Ready. Willing. My wife and friends' helped her with her resume, gave her interview tips, helped her with clothes and rides to be sure she didn't miss a job opportunity at any point- even helped financially when she had to attend an out of state wedding of a friend with plane tickets & trips to clothing stores for her outfit. So many dinners, nights out, groceries, lending her the car, passing along info on possible employment opportunities, and even one of my super generous friends actually bought her transportation, (not once but TWICE) helping her with a budget and paying off a loan that was hindering her credit during backgroud checks for work. She finally did find a job, a month before I left. So, a new job, a great 2 bedroom 1 & 1/2 bath condo in sunny Florida, completely furnished and stocked for half the rent she'd pay anywhere else, a built in circle of friends & family surrounding her if she needed anything- and all she had to do was maintain the place, take care of the two quiet, comfortable cats (13 and 10 year old) and pay her bills. I was off to start a new chapter in my life, with my wife, in another country.

                                                           

Well, here we are, 18 or so months later and 2-3 visits back to the States (May, September, January and last month, October) with disasterous results. In no particular order, here's what I went through.

I had left her in March with 3-4 super large manilla envelopes and money for postage so every few months she could send me my mail. Not once did I ever get my mail from her. She communicated less and less. After about 6 months, she sent a nasty email telling me how sick she was of hearing about my great life in England, my travels, fancy dinners & food, concerts and events every week on the radio show. I was stunned. She explained she was upset because she and the people around her were struggling with the ecomony in the States, finding work, family problems, illnesses, etc.  I explained that I was well aware of what MY friends were going through, but didn't think it would be a good idea to discuss that on an entertainment based internet radio show. I reminder her that I was 20 years older than her, had paid my dues with crap relationships, had my own struggles, including losing my 43 year old father to cancer at the age of 20, working in failed family business, seeing my mother struggle, re-financing my condo up to my ears to make ends meet, and being behind a desk for the last 18 years before finding any sort of happiness and any friend would be instinctively happy for me, regardless of what they were going through. I also reminded her of the things we had done and were continuing to do for her and her pissy, shitty attitude so it wasn't like I was being selfish, for shit sake, I was basically sharing it with her!  From that moment, things were very different between us. We kept the communications short, basically only in regards to rent, cat care and condo maintenance. This probably is the point where you're thinking we should have cut our losses, kicked her out, found care for the cats and just rented the place out to someone decent. But nooooo. We kept on thinking it would all work out.


Every time I visited, the place looked worse and worse. We spent more & more time cleaning and renovating while there on vacation because she couldn't be bothered to vaccum, spot clean the carpet, wipe a kitchen counter, organize a pile of mail or anything else. After a particular visit, when I did a pretty major purge of my things, my pictures of family, my knicknacks, my art work- stripping the place basically of anything of mine (even though I was still paying half the rent!) so she could start to make it more reflective of her taste- even moved the entire recording studio to my co-hosts place, so the extra bedroom would be empty if she found a roomie. This seemed to please her. To not have my face or my family photos around. In fact, she couldn't wait to move furniture around and get things the way SHE wanted. She thought perhaps her friend from another state would move to Florida and they would be roommates. I was pleased. I even gave her a $50 a month BREAK on her rent since she was still taking care of the cats and she was indicating that she was putting out a lot of money in cat litter.  I figured if a roommate was moving in, everything would be fine. Suffice to say, after visiting, the chick never ended up moving in. Can't imagine why.


In October, I found out after telling her that my ex husband owned a Benjamin Moore Paint Store near by and would hook her up when she was ready to paint- she ignored the advice, and went to a home store in July, where she bought CRIMSON AND GRAY SATIN ENAMEL PAINT, which showed every child-like brush stroke- and began a painting project which, not only did she NOT finish, she never even threw away the supplies, which laid all over the wall unit & floor- paint cans, trays, brushes from JULY. Roll Tide. Alabama college colors on half the condo walls. Yeay me.

                                                         

 This last visit back was the worst: the cats were shabby, unattended, sad, mopey, her share of rent was getting slower and slower coming in, excuses always being made ("my co worker stole my money", "I left work early and didn't have a chance to deposit it") and my wife and I were sucking it up because, well.."she was taking care of the cats". After this last trip back to Florida, it was evident she wasn't taking care of the cats at all, especially the diabetic one. They're litter box wasn't scooped regularly, so they started going outside of it, on the newly tiled floor we had installed in January. Their water dish was scummy, the place was dark all day, light bulbs burned out, not replaced, furniture moved so they couldn't get to the window sills, cat vomit on the rugs, that had been there for weeks and months, even a poop nugget or 2 rolling around on the floor in the living room. It was obvious she wasn't spending much time there. The instructions given by the Vet weren't being followed at all. The place was dark, dirty and stunk. My sofa & furniture, carpets were ruined. Her clothes laid in piles all over the dirty bedroom, the closets were stuffed with her crap, there was food, glasses, jugs of old iced tea, bottles of cheap wine, box of Cheez Its, fast food wrappers all over the bedroom, the blankets covered in cat fur, vomit, and piles of her mail, even MY mail for the last 7 months all over the place, pieces of covered furniture, boxes of the unused tiles from JANUARY, paint supplies stacked in the living room covered in dust and grime, the brand new tile & grout a mess, the funk of a 15 year old boy & cat piss hanging in the air. It was fucking disgusting. Enough to make me cry. Right in front of her. "Sorry," she said.


She knew for 3 months the exact date I was getting to Florida and didn't make ONE effort to clean the place up. She knew that we were carrying the entire mortgage, she knew that the last time we were there, we left her with cleaning supplies that WE purchased, because we had to CLEAN the place for her AGAIN. Yet, she did nothing at all. After having a talk with her, and listening to more excuses, I warned her that my wife was getting in to town in 2 days and for her sake, I had hoped she would try and clean the place up a bit. Again....not ONE effort made. My wife got in, nothing was any different- and insead of getting angry, she came to 2 conclusions- we had to find proper care for the cats FAST and we had to get the place looking presentable because we now had to find another room renter to split expenses with this fucking nutter, since she had only made half a month's rent payment since Sept 27th, and that had to be "requested".

                                                                 

Springing into action, my family & friends came together and painted the fucked up walls & cleaned the living room, kitchen and dining room, base boards, mopped the floors, cleaned the litter box, replaced the bulbs, and all that was asked was that she clean the 2 bedrooms & bathroom so that we could show the place if we found an interested person to rent to. She promised that she had a 3 day weekend coming up for Veteran's Day and she would handle it. She was left the cleaning supplies, a carpet shampoo'er, extra paint, and was told anything that was in the way could be thrown out. She also promised to make a payment after every pay week because "it was 3 paycheck week in November and she could get caught up." She cried, she said "sorry", she said "thank you", she explained that she was in somewhat of a depression, and lonely and didn't like living alone. She was always out because she didn't like being by herself. She had made some bad financial moves. I explained that the cat situation had me worried and I was looking for alternate care for them. She was working farther away and had a bit of a commute, and it was taking it's toll on her, she explained.  She was thrilled we would handle finding her a roommate, we went over what would make us happy in a new tennant, and even bought her a brand new bed to be delivered the week after we left so both rooms would be ready for a new potential roommate.

                                                     

So, basically - a 23 year old girl with a full time job, who had to drive 45 minutes to work & back every day was having a hard time keeping an apartment clean, paying bills and caring for two cats. I mean, seriously, I understand at 23 years old EVERYTHING is a big deal- every new friendship, every new adventure, every potential date, relationship, family thing, issue, and expense is a major fucking deal. But I can't wrap my head around someone who can live like a pig, not lift a finger, and ignore two cats because she's "depressed"- all the while Facebooking about drinking with friends, buying Starbucks, Jamba Juice, posting pictures of her with her idiot new friends out drinking, pretty much publicly shitting on the people who were paying half her rent and gave her the opportunity to thrive.

                                                     


I also want to add that my wife is only about 2-3 years older than non-paying renter. She worked her way through college with 3 jobs, got her degree, commuted to school and work over 2 hours a day, never missed a rent payment, had a good circle of friends, lived on a careful budget, went through relationship ringers from time to time, took no hand outs, worked as a teacher and now has a great job in her late twenties.

Here we are now, 2 weeks since we've left Florida and got back to England only to find out AGAIN- nothing was done. Every request ignored. Never did a thing in the bedrooms. Didnt clean, didnt do the carpets, didn't move a piece of furniture, NOTHING. She had every excuse in the book- "I didn't know what to do with things, I was all by myself, no one was around to help me move stuff.." (Really? You didn't need help when you re-organized the furniture LAST TIME!) We had the bed returned to the store, and realized, no one would ever want to live with this pig. The roommate thing was now in the crapper. After the talks & discussions, the plans and the promises. We were battered and fried by this kid. Down we go in a ball of flames, yet again.

                                                               



The kicker came when my mother stopped by with my step dad last week who was picking up stuff that needed to go to the city dump. My mother went in with her key, so my stepdad could get some chairs that needed to go and she wanted to see the kitties. Upon arrival, she noticed the smell, then saw the overflowing litter box and that there was 3 bits of food in the dish. Within 15 minutes of her phone call to me, I was on the phone, discussing it with someone who had offered before to take them a while ago. I was hesitant then, knowing this person had another cat, and I was worried about integrating mine, and the age difference between hers and mine, and so on. My wife actually convinced me by saying it was the best thing. I took the evening to think it over and made my call the next day. I knew that taking my cats out of the home they've known for 12 years, was going to be stressful for them, but I also know that the place they were in wasn't even their home anymore. Nothing was the same for them. They were getting no attention, they were living in filth, they were being ignored and they weren't even a thought to anyone. They hadn't been brushed, or tended to, they're behavior was different, and they're little sparks were gone. They needed to be with someone who would take the time to treat them right, get them on a medicine and feeding schedule, keep their litter box and food & water dishes clean, brush 'em and pet them every day and I was lucky enough to have the plan work out perfectly, even though it was fast. I'm not even going to tell you what the pharmacist said when the new cat care person took the bottle of insulin in to have it looked at, asking "Should this bottle be this full if the cats been on 3-4 units twice a day since September?" So, do the math. Was the cat getting 2 shots a day...? It makes me sick to even think about it, so we aren't going there. Needless to say, the cat care taker had to start from scratch getting her meds adjusted, and getting her on the feeding schedule that was advised. What is so damn difficult about a 7am and 7pm feeding & shot schedule and scooping a little box before work, when you get home and before bed? Apparently, it was TOOOOOO overwhelming for her. Being out on the town was more important. Being out with friends, was more important than taking care of something with a heart beat. This - from the girl who someday aspires to be a paramedic or EMT?! Oh god help us if that happens. That's all I can say.

                                               


Wait. It gets better. I got a pissy email from the non-paying "renter" stating "Thanks for making a bad day worse. I found out my Aunt has cancer, and then come home to an empty house, cats gone. Thanks for letting me know."  So, she was bothered by the fact that I didn't tell her the cats, who she didn't give a shit about, were being moved? Needless to say, at that point, she knew her days were numbered. So, she emailed me less than 48 hours later to tell me that she knew she was only there to "take care of the cats" and now they're gone,  so she moved out. She was sure to say "Thanks for everything and every opportunity" and "Good luck".  Good luck?... to me? Really? No, no thank YOU for not for not making my place any filthier. Thanks for keeping your priorities straight and taking all the booze, but not the cable box that's in your name or the last of your clothes, mail and personal pictures. Most of all, thanks for the parting lie about dropping the keys off to the neighbor. Couldn't just do what she arranged, had to wait until she was ready, a day later. The locks were changed anyways, and MY mail has been forwarded. Arrangements will be made for the last of her things to be picked up. So happy she took the 7 year old booze stash, though, because that's really the main concern when you move out in the middle of the night with no notice. I can see it now, her ass planted on some new unsuspecting moochable person's sofa, smoking Tipparillos, happily toasting "Here's to getting some pussy!" while feverishly deleting every mutual friend of ours from her Facebook because now they know the real deal. Again, priorities.

Her parents must be so proud of how she handled this situation. What a winner they raised. Is there an award for that? And that poor Aunt? She gets to worry about a niece who can't take care of herself in addition to everything she's going through.

                                                         

                                                                 

To add insult to injury, the non-paying renter emailed that she feels she only owes a WEEK of rent, and anything else she easily paid out in "cat care." $550 in cat care? I did remind her in my reply that anytime she ever paid anything out for the cats, like a vet visit or pet medicine, she would just NOT pay rent in exchange. So, she never paid anything out of pocket for them but litter and food, which in return, I was paying for the electric bill all along and had continued to give her the $50 a month break. Regarding any other cat care, she would phone us and I would give a credit card number to the vet office. Furthermore, my step dad was dropping off litter to her in recent months, when she stated to me she couldn't afford it. Mind you, all this after she had spent a WEEK in Orlando on vacation, where she drove to with gas prices at 3.49 a gallon, to be with her family trampling all over ever-so-affordable Disney World, posting pics all along the way.


Every Facebook post I would see showing a new stupid way she was out spending money she didn't have and that she owed us began to infuriate me. Still doing check-in's on Facebook from bars, cafes, and coffee shops. It was like constantly being slapped in the face, because she had NO basic regard or respect whatsoever for the problems she was constantly causing us while she was out having an "amazing time with friends."

                                                                                                                 

It all comes to an ugly end. But my circle of true friends have been there for me and listened to the venting, and they've seen the place with their own eyes, causing some of them to even cry, being overwhelmed with disappointment. They've been a part of it all, and feel humiliated, duped, lied to, used and they feel awful for me and my wife,  knowing what we've been through, monetarily and emotionally. They're stepping up, helping and they've been so supportive in the aftermath.

So, that's my story of how I learned a lesson about helping someone who doesn't want to help themselves. She not only let me, my wife, my circle of friends and my family down, she's lost them all as a part of her life. These people that did nothing but care about her and help her and genuinely wanted to see her succeed - she stole things from them, (as minor as a banner is it's still theft), she lied to us, she cut us off, she endangered pets, she cost people money, people that gave it to her when they didn't have it to give, she never made arrangements or an attempt to pay it back, even in small increments, or payment plans. She took and took and couldn't live up to the smallest of expectations- work, pay your bills, clean the place and take care of the cats. REALLY Sad. ..Sooo, yeh. This:

                                                     

I hope non-paying renter looks at that great, big kitty tattoo every day that she has on her back from years past and remembers that everyone associated with that logo dug deep and pulled her out of an unhappy situation in Virginia, moved her to South FL, set her up with everything she needed, and gave her a fresh start. And she blew it. I'm not saying we're a bunch of heroes. In fact, we are a rag tag bunch of women with tons of health problems, job stresses, family ups & downs, business jugglings, gossip-driven arguments, and big mouths, but when you see past it all, and you understand that no matter what the issues are among the group, one thing is for certain- they come together in anyone's time of need and they figure out a way to rise above it, whether it's with laughter, or food, or music or games, advice, or shoulders to cry on-  underneath all of it, they will always be there with open arms and big hearts. And that's the thing I'm most pleased about- we did nothing wrong, and she did everything wrong. She blew an opportunity most people would have been grateful for, regardless of what was going on to cause her to become so de-railed, she chose not to come to us- she chose to make a new circle of friends, probably her own age, and listen to the things she wanted to hear, and be influenced into poor decisions, and threw her own good sense and judgment out the window in typical young adult fashion- not looking back.

So long to you, Kid. Hope THAT tattoo marks the spot where you made your biggest mistakes and you learn from them someday.

Even at 40 something years old, in order to get myself moved and settled in England, I had to have help- financially, and the support of my closest friends & family- so I understand that part-it's difficult and uncomfortable and it actually overwhelms you when you realize how generous and warm people can be in your time of need. But here's the thing- I give back every day in every way I can, sometimes in little ways, sometimes as big as I can. I now work 3 different part time jobs to support myself, to contribute, and to pull my own weight. I didn't waste an opportunity, and for that I'm proud of myself and I love the people who helped along the way.

                                                         
I know this blog will effect a lot of you, and you have comments- and you are more than welcome to email me, or post them on my Facebook wall, but please do NOT waste your time contacting or badgering the person who's been called out here- she'll make excuses and lie to you, too.  This is MY account, from my point of view, and what I saw and what I felt. I have no sympathy for her, and could care less what her side of it is. It went on far too long and it is OVER now. I wrote this so perhaps if she saw it ALL in writing, she would understand exactly how I felt about what she's done to me and my family, because face to face conversations, then emails, and phones calls didn't get any response.  Also, to let it serve as a warning to those thinking about taking someone in. Most of all to get it off my chest so I can breathe again. 


Some heartfelt and sincere thank you's to the people that truly deserve it..

For my stepdad & my Mom who took care of every appliance from the electric to the a/c to the garbage disposal and anything else, in record time always and who even had the little punk over for holidays so she wouldn't be lonely- I thank you.

For my special cat care takers- I don't even have the words. Thank you seems so small.

For my upstairs neighbor Lisa and my Aunt across the way- Thank you for always keeping me updated and helping in any way I needed.

To my very patient wife, and to my friends Donna & Deb, Julie, Hazel, Vic and EVERYONE else in my circle who ever cooked a meal, gave a ride, picked up a job application, gave advice, lent an ear, covered a bounced check, helped with school, let her spend the night, picked up a tab, be sure she got to see her family, gave her clothes, took her shopping, took her to events, paid for hotels, tickets, gas, meals, or who just generally gave a shit and asked for nothing in return- I thank you guys for having good, huge hearts & intentions, as did I -and more importantly, for sticking by me while this situation unfolded and helping with the mess afterwards. You guys provide the balance that shows human kindness, when the focus was getting really tilted towards not having faith at all anymore.

                                                         

Is Lesbian Hair a "thing"?

It's a thing. Lesbians and their hair. The talk about how much time lesbians, of all people, spend on their hair, and the products, gel, sprays, spikes, blow drying, curling, etc.. yes, it's all true. But I always thought that "lesbian hair" applied to lesbians who were trying to be sure you KNEW they were a lesbian just by their hair. The ones that had short boy hair, with a perfect quiff complete with gel, or the ones that had one side shaved, so you could see all the ear stretchers and piercings, or had the back shaved so you couldn't miss that back-of-the-neck tattoo, or the shaggy Joan Jett look, or the Ellen "elf" hair. Stuff like that. I didn't see myself doing those things to my hair, so do I have lesbian hair?!  *SIGH* ...I do. Without doing anything crazy, punky or weird to my hair, somehow, it happened. And now I have to say this: "My name is Denise and I have lesbian hair."  I had to take a moment and just accept it.


Let's get one thing clear right now, I absolutely adore our hair stylist- she's funny, smart, cute, affordable, accommodating, and sweet. She's known my housemate Hazel for years, and was perfectly lovely about Jem and I when we started going to her, too. She knew our whole transatlantic love story, was moved to tears, yadda, yadd, yadda...so happy, how wonderful- the whole nine yards. Which always makes me feel good to hear, and feel so much more comfortable. It's nice not to pretend to be "just flat mates." It means a lot to be able to be yourselves and our hair stylist truly is a doll for not doing anything but just accepting us for us. More importantly, me...with my *gulp*... lesbian hair.

                                               

I'm quite sure that anyone who has seen my wife and then seen me has wondered "WTF is going on there?" My wife is slender, eats right, dresses well, talks in that proper British accent, can rock heels & a skirt, looks good in jeans and a t-shirt, has the long, expertly highlighted hair, and is lucky enough to either make it sexy messy & toussled, slick it back in a ponytail or straighten it for that sleek "girl-in-the-hair product-commercial" look. Let's be honest, she can basically pass for straight whenever she wants. No one would really suspect that she's a lesbian at a glance, unless of course, you saw us making out at a Pride festival or something.

And then there's me. No matter what, in a glance, you can't mistake the fact that I'm a lesbian. I'm big, stocky, my voice sounds like a mix of Harvey Fierstein & Lauren Bacall. I'm only comfortable in jeans, sneakers, t-shirts, or hoodie. "Dressed up" to me is a t-shirt under a blazer, clunky black shoes and jeans with no holes. But even without mentioning those other little goodies, I think you could tell by my hair. My hair has looked the same since my high school graduation in 1986, give or take a few layers added in or grown out. I've never messed with the color, or at least never wandered too far from your basic "medium to dark brown" for any particular reason. I'm completely serious about that. (see proof below)

                                                     1986 Senior Picture

                                       

                                                           1992

                                                                2004

                                      Present (ignore the popcorn in my nostrils)


 When I told my stylist, this past weekend, I wanted the top a little bit shorter- she went to work on my request. When she had finished, she did exactly what I had asked, and also made the back a bit shorter, much to my surprise, so that it blended properly. I reached around where my ends used to touch my shoulders, it was now barely touching the back of my neck. I remained calm and said "Looks great!" like I usually do. Later on, after I had washed it and started blow drying it, I was in a bit of a panic, missing the 2 inches that used to be there. (I think it only feels weird when you didn't ask for it, because it's more of a surprise. if you asked for it, you'd know to expect it and it would be no big deal). I could just be dramatic, because by Day 3, I hardly noticed it was any shorter at all, really. I blew it dry on Day 4 and it dawned on me, "Nothing shaved or spiked and yet it's still lesbian hair."

I know that today's lesbian hair is more trendy, more daring, and it's way more exciting hair, but still...I have lesbian hair in a boring "Yep. She's a lesbian"-kind of way. I don't sport a mullet. I don't have Justin Bieber's lesbian hair, I don't have that rat's nest "Shane" inspired hair from The L Word, I don't have the new Miley Cyrus' lesbian cut, and you wouldn't even second guess it, like when Emma Watson got her hair cut, but... it's undoubtedly lesbian hair.

It's just lesbian hair without trying to look like lesbian hair so it's it "vintage" or maybe "classic" lesbian hair..... I guess. It's like the Trans Am of lesbian hair, I suppose. Great, me & Bon Jovi...Not much changes year after year.

The Bad Lesbian?

When I look back on my past relationships, I realize that each of them taught me something different about myself but one fluid, consistent trait I noticed about myself was that I was pretty good at "faking care of people"-definition (verb. fayk-ing-kare-of-pee-pil): "The act of pretending you like taking care of people." I hated being the one who had to remember what time dinner plans were, hated having to be the one that packed lunches, made Dr's appointments, called about that error on the electric bill, handle the apartment manager, run interference with my friends, be the sounding board for work problems,  make excuses for why you weren't with me, be the protector of your feelings and stabilizer of your moods, putting up with your paranoia, and watching meerkat documentaries. But most definitely, I hated being the one who had to answer the age old questions, "What should I wear?" and "Does this look okay?" because, alright..seriously, let's break this down: I don't care what you wear as long as it's not a knitted hat in the shape of a Panda bear head and while we're at it, newsflash:  If I didn't think your clothes were okay to begin with, I wouldn't have dated you at all.

                                                       



After years and years of finding myself in the same position no matter how different I approached each new relationship with each new woman-whether she was older, younger, wiser, dumber, slower, faster, stronger, weaker, bigger, or smaller- somehow, I would end up unhappy with the role I had fallen into. Setting my own feelings aside to be sure my partner was happy seemed to be such a noble act. It was instinctive and for the longest time I was PROUD that I would do this. WTF? I would compromise the things that were most important to me, to be sure my partner got what they wanted. "Oh, you don't want to go to dinner with my family? No problem, I'll blow them off." ..."You don't understand my friendship with my ex husband? No problem, I'll distance myself."  "You're not into spoken word events? It's ok, we don't have to go." ..."You don't want to watch football? It's alright, I'll watch a Lifetime movie with you." ..."A threesome? COOL!" ...."A long weekend with your kids?! Of course!" ..."You can't pay your cell phone bill? Yeah! No worries, I got it covered."...."Your parent are alcoholics? I see no issue there!"..."A big, stupid dog? Great!" .... Things like that. Over and over. The minute my mouth opened and my agreement to some ridiculous, preposterous thing that ever fiber of my being was screaming: "No!" to, the words would escape from my brain to my lips and turn into "Sure!" Two seconds later, I would be standing there thinking, "What just happened?!"

                         

                                                 

I never thought of myself as retarded, but my quest to be the perfect girlfriend was getting so out of hand that I began to wonder. I knew I had to take a step back and take a look at myself. I mean, Jesus Christ, what was happening here? I was like a bull in Spain- I'd see a red flag and instead of running away, I would charge right at it, full force. I had myself believing by being so agreeable I was fucking irresistible. Worse than that, there was this burning desire to fix the broken ones- like I was some sort of Bob Villa of the Lesbians. When I finally did take a step back, after the last fiery, blazing "Backdraft" of a burn- I realized it was all on me.  There was something about being me- football loving, cat lover, family girl, non-dog fan, laundry goddess, not a nature lover, never liked folk music, still eating carbs AND meat-lesbian that I was somewhat ashamed of.  Part of me knew it was because I felt like I didn't fit in. I was 40 years old, been out for 12 years, had a ton of failed relationships behind me and I had to get this figured out. I wasn't carrying a petition around, or waving a banner in a parade. I didn't want to live with a girlfriend right away, I didn't want to NOT be around my family, I didn't want a tattoo, I didn't want to wear a tie or get my hair cut like "Shane" from "The L Word", I didn't want to play softball, I didn't like kayaking or camping, I didn't own any lesbian fiction books, and I had no desire to go to The Dinah, wear a trucker cap or get pierced.

                                                       

What was wrong with me? "FUCKING NOTHING! This is who I am." I had to keep reminding myself of that. That was the first thing I had to make peace with. The second was that I did come out later in life, so I wasn't struggling with my identity or my "look", aside from the fact that I liked women.  I already dressed in jeans, t-shirts, big, clunky shoes, sneakers, sketchers, the occasional baseball hat. My family was understanding, accepting, and I was lucky enough to not feel bad or have a traumatic, awful coming out story. I had a circle of straight friends that ranged from my high school days to present time that were supportive and respectful. I had a circle of gay friends who were fun, cool and loyal. So, with all these things already in place, why was I acting like such an friggin' idiot when it came to my romantic relationships? I didn't even know what I was looking for, and that was the third thing I needed to assess. ("Hey, how about someone that can take care of themselves?!")  I'll admit, sometimes, my atrocious decisions were based on "hot pants". A big time attraction to someone could knock me off course instantly- like when a golf ball sails off a driver perfectly into the air, then hits a tree branch and drops to the ground in the rough with a "plunk".

                                           

                                                 

So, when I met my wife, I decided I would do things differently. Ohhh, yes. I would be honest. About EVERYTHING.  Even though I kept thinking: #1. She's a lot younger than me #2. She's smokin' hot ("Fore!") #3. She's extremely logical and #4. She's a pretty good lesbian. And, now let's go over a few things pointed in my direction  #1. I'm old  #2. I'm not hot  #3 Logic? What's logic? I'm completely emotional and #4. I'm a bad lesbian.

So, you can see what we have here are all the components of a Ridley Scott action film, complete with the makings & budget for explosions, crashes and catastrophe.

                                                 


I was trying out a new thing, where I was going to be completely honest about myself, my likes, my dislikes, my turn on's, my turn offs, my past times, my mistakes, things that annoyed me, things that I enjoy, and foods I eat. All the while, waiting for her to consider these red flags and like any normal logical person, bolt like lightening.

                                                   

But she didn't go anywhere. Instead of considering that I cannot stand birkenstocks, kidney beans, or teenagers, or that I never made my Catholic confirmation because I was behind the church getting stoned, that I only wear white tube socks, and I'm diabetic- instead of seeing these as huge red flags waving in the breeze, she just processed the information in the "getting to know you" file. Didn't see them as red flags at all! This honesty thing was working. I didn't consider the things I was learning about her as red flags, either, like the fact that she was a gazillion times smarter than me (she could even read music!) or had to make exact change for the cashier every time we went out, or that she could watch TV Land for 10 hours straight, or that she liked "The Gilmore Girls" (not just the first 3 seasons, ALL of them) and that she could hook up electronics fearlessly. I didn't even feel threatened by this! The time we spent on the phone, obviously because of the distance we were dealing with back then, allowed us to learn more about each other's upbringing, parents, family, friends, being honest about feelings, past relationships, failures and successes. It gave both of us time to divulge, process, understand, and know each other without pressure. More importantly- we were communicating endlessly, without rolling around in the sack, and post orgasmically "loving" every single thing about each other until the sun comes up and reality hits you like heartburn from a bad falafal. It was a new way of doing things for me. Things were so level- without spiking highs & lows, that at times, I looked at my cat (who could care less) and would say, "Can you fucking believe how right this is?"

                                                     


 It was fine that I liked watching football on weekends, and she liked to read. It was fine that my cats slept with us, one on her head and one on my legs. It was fine that we had dinner at my mother's twice a week. It was fine that my ex-husband & his fiance were my friends. It was fine that my credit history was just now being restored. It was fine that I had made mistakes. It was fine if I didn't feel like going to the store. It was fine if we missed a music festival. It was fine to order pizza and stay in on a Friday night. It was fine that I was being honest. It was fine that she was being honest. Of course there are things that we learned about each other that we didn't agree on. Ok, whatever- she likes grapefruit juice. Disgusting, bitter, tart, makes your ears sting, grapefruit juice. She can't pass up a sale on "Tom's" shoes. So what? I cry during EVERY stupid, idiotic, half-baked episode of "Grey's Anatomy". I eat hot dogs from Costco and can burp the smell into the air 30 minutes later. It's all stuff we've learned along the way that we can tolerate in each other without a fear that we're over compromising. She knows I gag from wet hair in the shower drain, so she cleans it. She knows I can't ever be the one to sniff the milk if it's day past it's expiration date. I know she's going to change clothes 2-3 times a day, so I handle the laundry. She knows I sometimes forget to look for "Free Range" on the egg carton, so handles the shopping. I know to tell her that her ass looks great in her jeans as we're heading out to dinner, because it does, not because she had to ask. She gave up meat, I could never do that. She likes raw red peppers as a snack, I prefer Cheetos.  She thinks before she speaks, I react then revisit. We love theater, arts, movies, comedy shows, family, cheese, and fuzzy slippers. It's okay that I'm not the more ...familiar...kind of lesbian. I'm not a vegan, I don't own hemp clothes, an Ani DiFranco CD, a rescue dog, or a pukka shell necklace.  I don't use the word "organic" very often, or have a hybrid car. I'm perfectly happy that Jemma doesn't endorse teflon frying pans, that she recycles, likes classical music, thinks NFL salaries are absurd, is okay with me texting her while she's in the bathroom, still likes wearing dresses sometimes, can play Wii Fit for hours while I sit & read Twitter zingers and that she has a great relationship with her own family as well as mine.

                                                     

I even feel better about the things I didn't like about myself- like, for instance, how emotional I can be. I found someone to balance that with her logical way of handling things ("Arizona will walk again, she'll have a prosthetic leg and everything will be back to normal by next week"). If there's anything I've really learned is that if you have two highly emotional lesbians, it's like "Little Miss Matches and Little Miss Gasoline" ALL the time. Not good. Balance is necessary.

                                                       


 It's as easy as it should be. Even the hard parts. We handle our differences with respect and understanding. If I make a mistake or if I handle something poorly, she doesn't consider it a fault and put it in a column to tally up later. We don't consider it a win/loss, we will genuinely apologize to one another if we feel we were wrong. That way is cooler than taking back one half of the charms you got each other on a whim past the jewelery store on your 3rd date, or having to get a tattoo turned into something else, or boxing up the ol' CD's for the big split, or someone sleeping on the couch in a huff or explaining to your friend why your standing on her doorstep with a 12 pack of beer and 2 joints at 11:30pm. What's even cooler, especially for me, is that at no time along the way did I feel like I needed space, elbow room, copious amounts of air, (a proven side effect from "faking care of people") or that I had to choose between the things I liked and the things she liked, or my family, career, pets, shoes, clothes, TV shows or snacks. And the coolest of all? I finally understood what it meant when people would say "You'll find someone who will love you for you."  So... I'm doing pretty damn good for being my honest bad lesbian self. In fact, maybe there are no bad lesbians. Just individuals.

                                                     

(For the record, my wife is the most patient, tolerant, and yes, logical person you could ever imagine ....without any sort of meds!)

                                                         

It's Not So Bad!

I'm truly overwhelmed at the support, comments, posts, tweets and emails I've received in response to me having to get my wisdom tooth pulled out this month. I sensed some hesitation on your part, being that I'm in the U.K. Yes, yes, I know the jokes about the bad teeth in England. I can see why you would all be concerned. So, I'm pleased to report that it went VERY well. 

It was relatively uneventful. I found a dentist office that happens to be within 5 minutes walking distance from my house. The Paget Manor Dentist Office is just right up the street and it was clean, affordable & neat, and the staff was sweet and efficient. Everything you could ask for in a newly remodeled dentist office (that was probably once a house at some point, like every other business here in England). Dr. Richard Milner, DDS was smiley and chatty. If I had to guess, I'd say in his mid 30's, old enough to not look like he just walked out of dentist school, and young enough to be hi-tech, with computerized x ray scanners and he was cool enough to leave a few buttons undone on his dress shirt to not look like a tight ass. His assistant was a lovely young lady, and accommodating throughout my entire visit (can't say the same about her buttons, though), even handing me a tissue every time I had to rinse & spit. Dr. Milner was thorough, if not redundant, about what he would be doing in, his explanation. As I eased back into that better-than-a-barcolounger big, comfy chair, I noticed there was some Adele "21" on in the background. All that was missing was a cranberry & vodka and a fireplace, really. 

                                            

He advised me that I'd feel a little sting as he numbed my gumline with a Novocain shot, which I did- feel a little sting. No big deal. We chatted a bit while that was starting to work, mostly about how much he enjoys Florida and how much I enjoy England, or at least until I drooled, which probably indicated we were ready to start. He told me I'd feel a bit of pressure and if at any time something was uncomfortable, to just raise my hand. 

Which, I think is a super nice way to say, "Don't scream, jump or kick me in the nuts because I could easily cut your tongue in half."  That's just a guess on my part, though. 

He said to try and ignore the sound because it's worse than what's actually happening. I focused on Adele. "Never mind, I'll find someone like--" Within 6 seconds, my tooth was out. No pain, no scrunching of my nose or hand movement of any sort. He gave me some precise aftercare instructions and off I went. Within hours of the numbness wearing off, I was ready with some high powered pain pills a friend had given me, "just in case"- but I didn't need them, nor did I even need ibuprofen. No pain, no cotton wad in my mouth, no blood, no stitches, just a faint twinge every once in a while. Nothing notable. I stuck with the mushy food plan for a day or two- scrambled eggs, oatmeal, yoghurt, pudding, and mashed potatoes. By Day 2 and 1/2, I was chewing on my other side, eating regular crap like crisps, chips, fish, pasta, and even pizza. By Day 3, I was perfectly fine.

So, the cool part about this whole experience is that it's renewed my faith in England's dentistry, and really ...dentistry as a whole. But England, in particular. I mean, I didn't really doubt it. Yes, the age old jokes about bad teeth weighed a bit on my mind, but in all honesty, since I've been coming here, even for visits, before I moved here, I don't think I've ever really seen anyone with a nightmare mouth, gaping holes, crooked or broken teeth, other than perhaps an old codger in a pub who would more than likely spend his last five pound note on a Guinness rather than at a dentist visit anyhow. 

I've been to a lot of different parts of England, from Shrewsbury, to Birmingham, to Maidenhead, Windsor, Hammersmith, London, Banstead, Leicester, Soho, Wimbledon, even Wales and I've been to all kinds of venues from pubs, bars, theaters, shopping centers, Starbucks, hotels, piers, beaches, festivals, Prides, book stores, spa's, pet stores, and farms so I've seen a LOT of different, diverse people in all sorts of settings and I've yet to cringe at one smile. It doesn't surprise me, now that I think about it. I mean, seriously, look at the teeth on those "Downton Abbey" people! Perfect, right? 

                                   

I'm sure you saw your share of English people just watching the Olympics on TV this summer, and, truthfully now, how many times did you poke your friend and say, "OMG, did you SEE THOSE AWFUL TEETH??" Not once, I'm guessing. Look, I get that Prince Charles may not have the most dashing presence, but let's face it- that has a lot to do with his big friggin' ears, beady eyes and narrow nose. Even the Queen, on the rare occasion that she does smile, doesn't have some mangy messed up "teef" or anything. Prince William has a gorgeous smile, always has, like his mother Princess Diana. Prince Harry, Kate Middleton- great smiles, although people have been looking at more than their smiles lately- STILL- there's a lot of GOOD teeth over here and we seem to forget that. Simon Cowell doesn't show 'em  often, but he's got a decent set of whiteys, and Kate Winslet, Daniel Radcliff, Helen Mirren, Jessie J, Graham Norton, Gary Barlow, John Cleese, even Colin freakin' Firth and he's as English as it gets! I can't comment on Victoria Beckham since no one has seen her teeth in god knows how long, because she's constantly sucking in her cheeks all the time. And Will.i.am has a pretty good-- Oh wait, he's American. Come on, though! Have you ever looked at Jude Law and thought, "Those are some screwed up teeth, man!"..? No. And FYI: More good teeth people: Cheryl Cole, Emma Watson, and shut-the-front-door shocker: Russell Brand- he doesn't have bad  chompers at all for the twisted bastard that he is. In all seriousness, I haven't met a person yet that has a set of fucked up buckers like Austin Powers or Margaret Thatcher. (Ok, maybe Alan Carr could use some veneers). Don't get me wrong, I'm sure they're out there, looking like the creepy old villian in a Scooby Doo episode.  All 148 of them that are still living, because that's about how old and dated this "England's bad teeth" rap is.

                                                                 

I'm not giving a "GET OVER IT!" speech, by any means because I'm not completely convinced that Robert Pattinson doesn't have real, creepy, yellow vampire teeth, but I'm cutting the guy some slack since his girlfriend got caught getting her muff munched in a Mini Cooper by a married scumbag director twice her age. 

Think about this, USA:  Metal-mouthed disgusting rapper Lil' Wayne is on magazine covers. Oh and P.S. - need I remind you about Kirsten Dunst, Steve Buscemi, Mike Tyson, Jewel and Michael Strahan?! 

                                      

          

                                            

                                               

Yeah, I definitely think it's high time we give England a break. I'm more inclined to laugh at the funny way they talk over here than be stopped in my tracks by anyone's banged up teeth. Listen, all I'm saying is we can't let Ricky Gervais' god awful fangs represent an entire nation anymore, people. 

                                         

How Cool Am I?

Working as an Associate Editor for SHE Magazine- The Leading Source for Women in South Florida has allowed me some fabulous opportunities, but last month was a true career highlight- and now you can read it for yourselves in the September/October edition available locally and online at:



                                         www.SheMag.com

I interviewed iconic lesbian rocker, Melissa Etheridge on her new release "4th Street Feeling" available on Island Records, in stores Sept 4th, and on iTunes.

As if that weren't enough, I got to interview Jennifer Beals on her newest role, as an Army Major Jo Stone, who's conflicted with what she's told by a young solider in her unit in the YouTube webseries WIGS/Lauren

www.youtube.com/wigs

                                         

Lastly, nothing makes me more proud than a talented, out lesbian comedian, and I got to interview two of my favorites: Sandra Valls and Erin Foley, who are appearing in Key West, FL along with Chantal Carrere in Andrea Meyerson's "Curiously Strong Comedy"...at the San Carlos Institute  on Saturday, Sept 8th. Tickets available at www.womenfest.com


See? Lucky, lucky me!

(P.S. I still have to get a wisdon tooth extracted tomorrow, so don't think it's all celesbians and roses over here!)

Some days...

         "Some days you are the cat's ass and some days you're the one staring into it"

I understand this. I really do.  The older I get, the more fully aware I am that life is a series of ups & downs, fast & slow, peaks & valleys, mountains & mole hills, ebb & flows, and all that cliche shit. Take for instance this summer. I attended my first Pride event in Birmingham in June, as it pissed down rain in continuous English fashion. Cold, wet but not stopping any true gaymo's fun.

 In July, I was in Barcelona, Spain for a week. It was beautiful every single day- sunny skies, the Mediterranean Sea, incredible food, plenty of gorgeous sites, from the buildings, streets, shops to the fabulous people.

                                                                                                             

After returning back with just enough time to do laundry, visit the cats, and check in with family, I was off to L-Fest! This second annual lesbian music/camping/comedy & arts festival takes place in July up north in Shrewsbury, England at the massive & amazing Shropshire West Mid Showground. With it's incredible line up of talented musicians, inspiring workshops, author readings, film selection, vendors, hilarious comedy, evening parties, sports, contests & events, it's non-stop lesbian fun from sun up well into the wee hours. Rain or shine, the lezzies don't stop.

                                                           

Once back from the lesbians-in-the-mud experience, it was time to celebrate the Olympics for the next two weeks. The BBC television coverage was beyond what anyone could hope for, airing live events with a detailed schedule of times, places, channels, and constant updates. Addicted doesn't come to close to my state of mind. As if watching every event from table tennis, archery, kayak to mountain cycling, wasn't enough- we had lucked out with tickets to attend the Finals in Women's Beach Volleyball at Horse Guards Parade stadium -3rd row from the sand- where Team USA would play Team USA. What more could an American Lesbian in London hope for? Seriously! Jennifer Kessey, April Ross, Kerri Walsh Jennings and Misty May Treanor all on one night, getting silver & gold medals, seeing the US flag billowing in perfect night air- it was quite a moment!

                                                   

So...just as summer comes to a close, I'm reminded of all the ups...and I'm grateful.

                                                 


And now for the down: Monumental toothache! Wisdom tooth extraction scheduled for Sept 6th. Ugh.

                                                 

The Lesbian Lounge in DIVA Magazine's "Lesbian News"

Jane Czyzselska on The Lesbian Lounge / DIVA Magazine Lesbian News / www.divamag.co.uk

Great article on us!