Moving Out; Moving On

For the past two years, I’ve slept in my room at my childhood home, with my parents and sibling only a few feet away. We were a family again, a team.

Recently, I joined a new team. I moved into an apartment with my boyfriend of nearly seven years. It’s strange because the last time we lived in the same zip code was eight years ago. We’ve gone from living most of our time together apart to sharing the same space and belongings.

My parents helped us move in, and we got most of our items in order fairly quickly. But that first night is when it hit me; just like the day they dropped me off at college. I was almost as sad as they were. Even though I knew I would see them that upcoming weekend, it felt strange not living with them.

And on that first night in our new place, I started shedding a few tears. His head was on my chest, and I quickly wiped them away. But, as the evening wore on, I couldn’t stop thinking about what my family was doing, and how, at this moment, I should be with them. So, more tears started falling, until I eventually couldn’t take it and ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and sobbed.

My boyfriend, Matt, then opened the door and took a seat on the floor next to me. He tried to wipe away the tears and get me to confess what had made ounces of water stream down my face. I just can’t tell him, I thought, it’s so stupid. I miss my family? Seriously!? We’d been waiting for ages to be able to live together, and now that we’ve finally gotten the chance to, I miss my old living situation?

Instead of asking more questions, he took me into his chest and cradled me like a child. He told me jokes, and I looked up at his face and laughed at each one.

More than two months have gone by, and I’m happy to report that my first night in the apartment was the only night I thought about my family and cried. Thank goodness that didn’t stay consistent, and, neither has other aspects of our relationship.

We argue now more than we ever have in the past. I can’t stand it when clothes and other belongings are left lying around in the open, or when things like toothpaste and other bottles aren’t put back in their original cabinets, yet, these situations occur all the time. We go back-and-forth about what to do for dinner, what’s happening this weekend, upcoming vacations, friends, when we should see our families again; everything is a one, big discussion. Decisions used to be easy for us; maybe it was because we had a while to plan it out before we saw one another.

Sometimes, we come home and go our separate ways. This part is still weird for me because prior to living together, every moment we got to spend around each other was sacred. Now, we’ve become so used to seeing each other all the time that it’s as if we think, eh, we’ll hang out later. And, maybe because it’s summer, we seem to have our own schedules and activities on the weekends. Recently, I booked a dinner cruise for the two of us, just so that we could get the chance to reconnect. The cruise lasted two hours, but it felt like we barely got a, “how you doin?’” in there.

If I’m making it sound like everything has just been awful, it hasn’t! I feel more connected to Matt than I have in the last seven years. I like that we can start making bigger decisions together about bills, home décor, how we spend our time, and more. I also love the fact that I get to sleep next to him every night, even though we’re both bed hogs. And, yes, we can have sex every day if we feel like it! Our neighbor upstairs may not like it, but we can do it if we want!!

More than anything, I just love the fact that he’s here, and that I can feel his presence…even if we’re not in the same room together…like right now. Currently, he’s just a shout away, instead of a phone call and 45 minutes…ah, priceless.

Granny Smith – over and out

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Luck to be a Lady

I open my eyes and I’m greeted with a stabbing pain. My head is throbbing, and I feel like someone is sitting on my belly button. I think my pelvis was shattered. They said I lost a lot of blood, but they’re doing what they can to make me comfortable: heating pads, chocolate, soft pillows. I’m an emotional wreck. Everything seems to be triggering some form of anger, sadness, and confused complication in my body. They tell me that this too shall pass…

Unfortunately, being a woman is not a phase, and I’ve struggled with it my entire life; the monthly gift (as described in the example above), weight gain, societal pressure, family pressure, unworthy pressure that I’ve put on myself, all of it. Today is International Women’s Day, and I can’t think of a better day to talk about what it’s like being one.

When you’re a girl, you see images of Cinderella, Belle, Jasmine, and Ariel, and you think to yourself, I want to be them, I want their life. I want to look like them, have their problems, and their happy endings. I remember being really little and standing on my bed, looking at the moon and dreaming of a life like Cinderella’s (the ending of course). I even dug around in my mother’s beauty drawer for a thick, black hair tie, just like the one Cinderella had, so that I could pull my hair back, just like she did in the movie.

As I grew, I wore dresses, painted my nails, applied makeup; I had a field day trying to look like a lady. But, still, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was a girl with pale skin, nasty zits, glasses, and frizzy hair who was gaining weight by the minute. Boys NEVER looked at me…especially when I was going through my ugly phase…which was from 2nd grade to about my sophomore year of high school. I noticed all the girls in classes around me finding guys in middle school, and I was looked at as an ugly freak. I thought, how can I change?

As time went on, like any other woman, I saw images of Hollywood celebrities, their hair, makeup, weight, and tried to imitate them. I bought their clothes, went and got my hair done, researched how to tone my muscles while sitting at my desk, and the best brands of makeup for my skin. Still, I never looked like those women in Hollywood. Hell, there are celebrity women in their 50s that look better and are healthier than I will ever be!

And, not only did I feel pressure in regards to my looks, but sex. As a woman, you’re expected to be this sweet and innocent girl in public, but once you lock your bedroom door, men want you to turn into this wild animal! I remember the first few times I had sex, I didn’t know what to do with my hands, what to say, anything. I thought that I was supposed to sit back and let him take control of my body. It’s his for the taking; right?

Looks, the bedroom, and even the work force seem to control society’s perception of women. I remember when I entered my first job and realized that I wasn’t making as much as the man (who was doing the same work and at the same level of experience) sitting next to me because I had a vagina. Really? But, I suppose women are an awful investment. If they’re not engaged to be married when they start working for your company, they probably will be in no time. So, if they get married and their husband wants to move away because of a promotion, poof, they’re gone. Then, if he wants to have children, of course, someone might have to stay home. But, how can he stay home? He just got that promotion? He’s top dog! And, companies hate maternity leave. You might as well ask to go part-time, or just save the company some time and never come back. Why invest in a woman, they’ll just leave! Ugh…

But, when you think about it, I don’t know if I’d want to be a man either. Society tells them that they can’t cry or show emotion when they feel it. They can’t be the runt of any sports team, otherwise they’ll get picked on. They have to be tall, have six pack abs, and watch ESPN. They have to make others feel like they’ve earned the penis God’s given them. And, if they want a female partner, they better make sure they’re able to provide. They’re the one who’s going to have to work long hours, make connections, and do everything in their power to make sure that at the end of the day he still has gas left in the tank to have sex with his wife. And, what about that wife? Is she pretty? Does she do meaningful work? How many women did he have sex with before he married her? How much action does he receive on a regular basis now that he’s married? It’s all important. It all counts toward their “manhood points.”

I don’t know if I’d want that specific pressure that comes with being a man. I couldn’t tell you what’s worse. But, what I can tell you, is that pressure to be anything other than who you truly are is awful. If you’re a woman, but like being a “tom boy,” who gives a shit? If you’re a man, but enjoy The Notebook, I’m not going to judge you. Shouldn’t the message we spread to one another be, “Be Happy, Be Healthy, Be You,” Instead of, “be a man,” or “act like a lady”…?

Granny Smith – over and out