Full Disclosure

So I'm finally getting brave.

My real name is Jess.

Aphrodite still isn't comfortable with having her name disclosed on the internet, but I've been given permission to call her by her first initial, L.

We live in Raleigh, North Carolina.

And I'm blogging publicly again.

I may still post here from time to time, if there's something I genuinely feel that I can't say on that blog -- but I think I'm finally to the point where I'm comfortable enough with my life, my orientation, and with being 'out' to my entire family that I can use a public forum for about 98% of what I want to say. I've had that blog since 2003, and I'm looking forward to using it again.

(Nobody in my circle of friends or family knows about LesbiAntics, though, so if you comment on the public blog, try to refrain from mentioning this one, so that I can keep this outlet if I need it again in the future.)

Hope to see you all there!

A Conversation at Work

(Athena crawls under the desk to plug in her computer)

(Anne, another nurse, walks by and playfully slaps her behind)

(Athena laughs)

Anne (a few minutes later): By the way, I'm sorry if I offended you before.

Athena (smiling): Oh, please! It takes a lot more than that to offend me.

(Joe, a wisecracking member of the clerical staff, strolls up to the nurses' station)

Joe (joking): Are you easily offended?

Athena (smiling): Uh, definitely not.

Joe (smiling): Me, neither. There's really only one thing that offends me.

Athena (grinning expectantly): And what's that, Joe?

Joe: That 'pregnant man'. That offends me.

Athena (smile fading): Why?

Joe (forcefully): Because she is not a man. And she never will be. (touches his own chest) I am a man. That thing is not a man. If you can have a baby, you're not a man.

(nurses' station has grown very quiet)

Athena (calmly): I guess I just don't think that someone's genitalia necessarily determines which gender they identify with. (lightly stressing the pronoun) He identifies as a man, feels like a man, regardless of what his original body may have looked like.

Joe (holds up his hands): Oh, don't get me wrong, I want people to live however they want to live. That's their choice.

Athena: Well, that's good. Because I've heard that he and his wife are very happy and that they're expecting a second baby.

Joe: (mumbles something indistinguishable, looks at another nurse, and changes the subject back to work)

Big, big sigh. There is so much more I would have wanted to say to him.

Like that just because his genitalia, sexual orientation, and sexual identity all match up doesn't mean that everyone's do.

Like that he definitely can't claim to support people "living however they want" if he's going to condemn someone for taking a brave, brave step and living happily as the gender that he feels befits him.

Like that he's an ignorant asshole, plain and simple.

Sigh.

As an aside... after the office Christmas party, pretty much all the nurses and doctors know about me and Aphrodite now (she actually hit it off great with Dr. H as well as with one of the female doctors who doesn't even like me very much, LOL!) Joe is one of the only people left at work who doesn't know... and I think I'm going to keep it that way for a while. Might serve as a good trump card to make him look like a fool if he starts spouting off like that again. :)

I'll be able to say "I knew her when..."

I've never tried to embed a YouTube video before, but I actually met this chick face-to-face recently, and man, is she awesome. She's from the Netherlands, and her name is Caroline van der Leeuw, but she goes by Caro.



I lived in the Netherlands for a year and half during my undergrad studies -- have I mentioned that before? I can't remember -- and Caro's best friend is one of Aphrodite's grad school classmates. She (Caro) was here for a visit recently, and word got around that I speak fluent Dutch (*ahem* Aphrodite...), so she got curious ("Why the hell would anyone want to learn Dutch?!") and wanted to meet me. So we all met up at a bar a couple of weeks ago and had a great time. This is her first single, and first video... and I am super impressed. Take a peek!

I know I'm being kind of quiet for these last few weeks of the semester -- I am absolutely buried in work, not to mention my parents are coming to visit for Thanksgiving -- but I'll be back soon.

The Audacity of Hope

I'm a week late with this post, but I know it's one I'll look back fondly on in twenty years, so I'm making the effort. Those who are sick of hearing all the rhetoric about Obama: stop reading now. I'm agnostic, but this post is going to border on religious fervor, because recent events have awakened emotions in me that I have rarely, if ever, experienced.

One week ago today, Barack Hussein Obama -- a young father, a black man, a Democrat, a visionary -- was elected President of the United States.

Aphrodite and I were two of the millions who reported spontaneously bursting into tears -- not only during his acceptance speech, but whenever we read a news article or saw a TV spot about him over the next 24 hours. Eight years of tension, shame, and mistrust were over -- actually finally fucking over, and ended by the most incredible, transformational figure we could have dreamed of! For the first time in our adult consciousness (we were only 16 when Bush was elected the first time), we had voted for -- and succeeded in getting -- a leader that we trusted. Not only that, but the entire world, from Australia to Kenya, was proud of us in a way that I had never experienced. The world sympathized with us after 9/11 -- supported us, encouraged us -- but the last time all those countries were proud of us, feeling uplifted by us, looking to us for inspiration? I can't remember such a day.

9/11 sparked a unifying of the American people themselves, too -- but it was largely an outpouring of defiant nationalism sparked by shock and fear. Inspiring, yes, but for the wrong reasons. Barack Obama winning the 2008 elections has sparked a similar feeling of unity -- this time, for all the right reasons.

I can remember being a college junior during Obama's DNC speech in 2004, sitting in front of my computer in my tiny apartment bedroom, feeling the hair stand up on my neck as Obama gave his speech. I knew at that moment, as did so many others, that he was something special; I had the overwhelming sense, "That man is what we need!!!" I spent the next four years hoping beyond hope, in the back of my mind, that he would someday be our president, never believing it would actually happen. When he announced his bid, I couldn't believe it. Something I wanted, actually coming true on a national stage?! When he beat Hillary -- though I felt a definite fondness for her, too -- my hopes rose even higher. And on November 4th, they reached a towering crescendo... finally cresting and crashing upon the beach of relief and euphoria. President Obama. President Obama!

The disconcerting -- and, at the same time, reassuring -- thing is this: I trust Barack Obama. I do not simply follow him for lack of any other choice, hoping for the best; I truly trust him to take care of us all, and help us to the best of his ability. If there is something he wants, I trust that he knows best in the long run. If there is something he cannot or will not do, I trust that he has a good reason. I trust that he has my best interests -- and Aphrodite's, and my parents', and my downstairs neighbors' -- at heart as he sits in the Oval Office. I trust that he is honest and genuine in what he says to us: "I will not be a perfect president, but I can promise you... I will always tell you what I think and where I stand." Something about him goes beyond charisma for me -- something unexplainable. I honestly think I would trust him with my life, and I am not a person who says such a thing lightly.

Not only do I trust the words he has said, I trust the ones he hasn't. It has not escaped my attention that three same-sex marriage bans were passed last week by the same American people who voted this incredible man into office. I trust that if Obama has the power to change things for us, to lead the next civil rights battle after finally shattering the ultimate racial barrier, that he will.

I don't believe he has all the answers -- but I believe he knows where to look to find them. I believe he knows how to strike a compromise between dissenting parties. And I believe he possesses the ability to talk to people in a way that they can understand, without being condescending, even if they don't agree. He is exactly what we need at this dark hour.

He is going to change our country, and our people, for the better.

I can't wait to watch him work.

26.2 miles really is a long way...

So yesterday I ran the 33rd annual Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. I ran a half marathon in January 2007, and did a half Ironman in September 2007 (of which the run portion is equivalent to a half marathon), but had never done a full marathon before, so this was a first for me. One more thing I can cross off the Life List! :)

We got to D.C. on Friday, did a little sightseeing on Saturday, and Sunday was race day! I woke up to a temperature of 47 degrees. I had chopped the arms off an old, Goodwill-bound shirt to use as temporary arm warmers until the sun came out, and that proved to be a good idea. I was still pretty chilly, but since the day warmed up to nearly 70, it was definitely the right decision to be cold for a little while rather than hot for nearly the entire race (as I would have been had I run in long sleeves or long pants, as many did).

As it happened, I wasn't cold for very long, because the first adrenaline rush of the morning happened quickly. Walking from the Metro station to the staging area (in an enormous crowd of people), we heard the national anthem being sung. "Oh, yeah, they were going to do that at, like, 7:30," someone said. A few minutes later, we heard a gun go off. "That's the wheelchair start," someone else said. We all kept meandering along until we reached the staging area, and I got in line at the first Porta-Potty I came to. I hadn't been standing there for more than two minutes when... fireworks went off, there was a huge cheer, and the announcer bellowed, "And we have begun the 33rd annual Marine Corps Marathon!"

Only then did I realize that everyone standing around me was competing in the 10k, not the marathon! "Are you kidding me? Why am I still standing here?!" I yelped, and took off toward where I presumed the starting line to be. Luckily, there were quite a few empty Porta-Potties in that direction, and I was able to make use of one before continuing my mad dash, asking everyone I came to if I was going the right way. I knew it would take at least ten minutes to get everyone across the starting line, so I wasn't too worried, but I was definitely glad that I'd done all my obsessive preparations (putting my chip on my shoe, pinning my number to my shirt, etc.) the night before!

I reached the crush of people at the start corral just a couple of minutes before the back of the pack crossed over the line. The first couple of miles were easy and jocular, everyone bantering back and forth, marveling over the man who was juggling as he ran and the older, wheelchair-bound man who alternately slowed down and sped up as we all proceeded up and down the hills. (Although the course was, in general, very flat, there were a few rolling hills throughout the first 3-4 miles, as well as a couple more at the end.) I began the race with a girl my age named Amy, continued it with three older people (John, Lauren, and someone else), later met a nurse who was trying to go back to grad school at Penn State, and then ran the latter part on my own, once I put my headphones on.

The first part was very pretty; we crossed a bridge over the Potomac, with Georgetown University in sight on the other side, surrounded by orange and yellow trees. There was a light fog wrapping around the bell towers and tall buildings, looking like something out of a photograph. It was gorgeous, and everyone around me was commenting on it.

Everybody was taking frequent potty breaks in the bushes during the first part of the race, due to all the hydration we'd been doing. Around the five-mile mark, I joined a group of women in making a break for the trees, and when we were done, the change was dramatic. One minute I was running in a tightly packed group of people, all talking and laughing; when we emerged from the foliage a few seconds later, amid jokes about poison ivy, the group had thinned out considerably and there was a lot less talking going on. It was like going from the smiling "slow-but-fun" runners into the serious "this-is-really-gonna-hurt" runners. I was a little taken aback.

I ate my first pack of Sport Beans (like jelly beans, but with more carbs and electrolytes) around this time. I had 5 packs of them, plus two packs of Gu gel, so I decided to have a little snack every 4-5 miles or so. I was also carrying a water bottle, since the water stops were only every 2-3 miles (in contrast to a lot of other runs, where they have them at every mile marker), and that also proved to be a fantastic idea, since I could wash down my snacks and wet my whistle on my timetable, not the course's.

Although headphones had been officially banned from the race course, a lot of people were wearing them anyway. I had mine in the tiny pouch around my waist (along with my Beans, Gu, Advil, BodyGlide, debit card, ID, Metro pass, and toilet paper -- hey, you never know!) and as miles 6 and 7 rolled by, I was starting to feel like I'd definitely need to bust them out at some point. I was actually a little bored, which was something I hadn't really expected. I decided to wait until at least mile 10 for the headphones -- I knew they would help, but I also knew that once I put them on, I was (a) out of 'distraction' ideas, and (b) a lot more isolated from everyone around me, so I wanted to wait as long as I could.

One nice surprise came at mile 9, when I'd been searching for mile marker 8 for what seemed like forever and was worried that I was already slowing down to a glacial pace. I finally saw the marker up ahead -- and it said 9! Relieved that I wasn't as slow as I'd feared -- and that I was a mile farther than I'd thought -- I continued on.

This was the point when my legs started to hurt -- and not just in the 'running muscles' (hamstrings, calves). but up along the insides and outsides of my thighs too, as though my legs were frozen in position as they swung through the air. Everything was starting to 'lock up', and it was quite painful. If it were a 15k, or even a half marathon, I probably could have stuck it out, but I had 17 miles to go! I decided to stick it out until mile 10, and then take another potty break, eat some more Beans, and take some Advil!!!

I took care of all that business (noting as I did so that I'd run the first 10 miles in just a little over two hours, which, for me, was pretty great), and slowed my pace to alternating walking and very slow running until the Advil started to take effect. I was also noticing that every time I slowed from a run to a walk, something in my right thigh would twang! like a bowstring. It was more disconcerting than painful, but I was hoping the Advil would help. As it happened, it did; the twang! backed off to more of a nerve-conduction 'crackling' feeling, then stopped altogether near the end of the race (possibly because I got more and more careful about my 'downshifting' technique!) We were on a very pretty part of the course, running along the river in the park at Hanes Point.

Once the Advil had started to work noticeably -- around mile 11 -- I pulled out my iPod and cranked up my 'power song': Pat Benatar's "Invincible". That song came on during the last half-mile of my first half marathon, at Disney World, when Monique and I were pouring on the steam at the very end, running through Epcot past cheering crowds toward the finish line... and it has an incredible revitalizing effect on me. I only listen to it during races or very long runs, and even then, only when I really need that boost. Anyway, within just a few seconds, I was back to my normal 11-12-minute mile pace, passing people left and right. It didn't last long -- only until mile 14 or so -- but was certainly a nice boost (and reprieve from the mental and physical fatigue). Someone was passing out packets of Tylenol when we passed through a medical area, so I grabbed one and held onto it.

Around miles 14-16, we were passing through monuments -- the Lincoln Memorial (with people sitting on the steps cheering us on), the Washington Monument, and then the Capitol. Aphrodite had said she'd be somewhere around mile 16, and I was counting down ("Only three more miles until I see her!"), but when I got there, she wasn't there. I took a rather (ahem) prolonged Porta-Potty stop, and when I came out, the 6-hour pace group (holding a sign reading "6:00") was right in front of me. Their strategy was to run for 3 minutes, then walk for 1 minute, over and over and over. My original (loose) time goal was 5:45, and I decided that as long as I stayed in front of that group, I'd be happy. I wasn't in as much pain as before, but was starting to get a little miserable emotionally -- just sick of it all. I was relieved to finally see Aphrodite at mile 17 (and then again at mile 19); it gave me a real lift. Around this time, I calculated that it had been around 3 hours since the Advil, so I swallowed the Tylenol as well.

The last 6 miles were the worst. I did 'beat the bridge' by a wide margin (i.e. get through the bridge at the 21-mile mark before it was reopened to traffic, at which point any runners still needing to cross would have been forced to drop out) but the space between mile markers just seemed to get longer and longer. I stopped to pee again, and when I was through, the 6:00 group was way ahead of me; I finally caught up to them as we entered Crystal City, which was a very 'busy' area -- people everywhere, streets lined with red, yellow, blue, green, and purple flags, cowbells ringing, even a sign reading, "You're almost there -- have a beer!" with people handing out small Dixie cups. There was a lot to look at -- even some guy running in an enormous mascot outfit with a giant felt head -- but by that point I was so 'over it' that I wasn't even paying attention. I put on Pat Benatar again just for the distraction, to try to get a little cushion of space between me and the 6:00 group, because I knew that when I dropped back to walk, they'd catch up to me again.

Well, they did catch up again, somewhere between miles 24 and 25, and the woman leading the group said, "Only seven more intervals, guys! Twenty-five minutes, and we're done!" Those words did a lot to cheer me up -- no longer were we counting in miles, or even hours, but in minutes. I counted each time we sped up or slowed down (another woman was holding a stopwatch and would regularly yell, "Ten seconds... five... three, two, WALK.") -- six more intervals, five more, four more, three more. Finally, when the spectators along the side of the road began to holler, "Less than half a mile, you're almost there, less than a half mile!" I left the 6:00 group behind and decided I was just going to run straight for the finish.

We rounded the last curve, and there was a narrow path at a steep angle leading up to the path between the bleachers, which I gritted my teeth and got through at a just-barely-run (though not without thinking I was going to vomit once I got to the top), in the middle of a crush of people trying not to trample each other in their desperate enthusiasm. And there was the finish! The cameras were watching me, so I threw my arms in the air and screamed as loudly as I possibly could as I crossed the line. 26.2 miles, done! Time, 6 hours flat (6:00:15, if you want to get technical). Which proves that, though I may be pathetically slow, I am nothing if not consistent (my half marathon time in January 2007 was 3 hours flat).

Only then did I realize how incredibly tired my legs were. They were so sore that I could barely walk, tightening up more and more every minute. I knew I had to keep moving. I was limping, but not from the 'usual' pain in my heel -- indeed, I wasn't even really sure why I was limping, just that that was my body's most instinctive way of avoiding as much pain as it could. I walked through the chute, collecting a bottle of water and a Mylar blanket, heading toward a smiling Marine in camouflage. "Congratulations, ma'am," he said, slipping the medal over my head. (Honestly, if he hadn't ruined it by calling me 'ma'am', I'd probably have cried.)

A bag of snacks was shoved into my hand, and I made my slow and painful way toward the family linkup section to find Aphrodite. Along the way, I was given the official 'Finisher Coin', a tradition which once saved the life of an American Marine pilot during WWI; he was set to be executed as a traitor, but was able to use the coin to prove his identity as a member of the U.S. military. It's a triangular, red-and-gold coin; definitely framable.

Once in the linkup area, I borrowed a fellow runner's cell phone to call Aphrodite. It turned out that my electronic alerts (sent automatically to Aphrodite, my mom, and Aphrodite's mom via text message every time I crossed an electronic strip, every 5 kilometers) had stopped working somewhere around the 30k mark -- so nobody had heard from me since Aphrodite had last seen me at mile 19. Therefore, they all thought I was hurt or unable to run any farther, limping along somewhere. Worried, Aphrodite had started walking back down the course, hoping to encounter me; instead, she had missed me entirely (since I wasn't hurt at all, but moving along at exactly the same pace as before) and thus didn't see my finish, which was very upsetting to her after spending the whole day running after me trying to catch a glimpse. She made her way back to the linkup area, found me, handed me a bouquet of roses (aww...) and we joined the crowd cramming into the Metro for the ride back to the hotel.

So... that was my first marathon experience. Some lessons learned (carry a cell phone!), many successful techniques rewarded (carry water, use liberal amounts of BodyGlide, and definitely carry headphones!) If last year's half Ironman was a 10 in difficulty/pain, this was probably a 9... maybe an 8.5, if only because I never really doubted that I was capable of finishing it. Very hard, for sure, and definitely not my favorite distance (that would be the 15k or the half marathon)... but I'm not ruling out the possibility of doing another one someday. :) And the best news (to me) is that Aphrodite, who runs a lot but has never competed in a race, was so inspired by it all that she's going to do 'my' 15k race (the one I do every year) with me in 2009!

Blisters: 4
Calories burned: approximately 3200
Chafing: NONE (incredible!)
Pain today: hips, inner thighs, calves, shoulders
iPod songs played: 43
Swag accrued: medal, finisher coin, patch, long-sleeved shirt, numerous coupons and free samples
Experience: priceless!

Anyway, thanks for caring enough to read all the way to the end of this... hope you guys are all having a great Monday! (I'm home recuperating today... can barely move my legs, LOL!)

To "Anonymous"

Athena,

I stumbled upon your site a few months ago. I was scouring the internet for anything that could...who knows? normalize?...the crazy turn my life has taken in the past year.

My family has always been my rock. And then this wonderful relationship...came out of nowhere. And all of a sudden I became distant. My family would never approve. Their potential reactions, were they to know, plague my worst nightmares. I've struggled with not being able to tell my friends and family about this...and it makes me feel horribly distant in a way I've never experienced before.

I still can't get over the similarities between your story and mine. I really just wanted to drop a line. Let you know I have loved reading your posts and I really enjoy your writing.

I hope you are well and keep posting, but life is hectic so if you cannot blog, I wish you the best of luck.

To the person who posted the above: please feel free to email me if you're looking for a little long-distance support. (Invent a name if you aren't comfortable sharing your real one.) I have soooo been there, and I know almost everyone else reading this site has too. I feel honored to be able to provide even a tiny bit of the support you're looking for, and I wish you the very best of luck with everything.

Conflicted

Wow, it's been a long time. Sorry for falling off the map like that -- it's been a truly crazy summer.

Quick update before the real post:

(1) Aphrodite has started her master's degree and is having a great time,
(2) I'm in two online classes (Pathophysiology and Developmental Psychology), which are both very interesting and are potentially my last prerequisites for PA school,
(3) we're moving to a MUCH better apartment on October 31st,
(4) my grandfather has backslid a lot medically, and I've been given his (mostly new) car so we can sell my beloved Beetle so I can pay off my credit card debt,
(5) my little sister is getting married on October 4th,
(6) I'm contemplating a longish buzz cut (after the wedding),
(7) marathon training isn't going quite as well as I'd hoped, but I still think I'll finish the race, and
(8) I still want that ear spiral.

Anyway, I have a dilemma, and I'm hoping you guys can help -- or at least provide some sympathy. :)

We currently have 12 doctors at the pediatric practice where I work (five men, seven women), and each doctor has a more-or-less-regular nurse who is with them almost every day. Every doc has different preferences when it comes to how much (or how little) documentation they like the nurse to do, at what age they prefer to give the meningitis vaccine, how lenient they are with regard to what time their patients arrive, etc., so having a regular nurse for each doctor lets each nurse get used to the way her doctor likes things done and function accordingly. So the docs get to keep their preferences rather than adhering to a practice-wide policy, and each doctor-nurse team functions pretty efficiently.

When I first started work at the pediatric practice, I got 'bounced around' a lot from one doctor to another; they couldn't seem to decide where to put me. Then, finally, Dr. H (one of the younger male doctors) got fed up with the scatterbrained older nurse who had been assigned to him (but that's another story) and privately asked my boss if he could have somebody different. Next thing I knew, I was Dr. H's regular nurse.

And it has been fantastic. Dr. H hasn't been used to having a nurse that he can ask once and have a task be completed every time henceforth, so he was visibly relieved and thrilled to get me. He treats me with respect (doesn't go on a power trip like a couple of the other doctors) and thanks me profusely every evening for that day's work. When I noticed that I occasionally had to correct the immunizations he was ordering, I started checking each patient's vaccine records before he went into the room and attaching an electronic note to the chart documenting which shots the patient needed -- a practice that he loved and asked me to continue. His patient messages to me are signed with his first name. We discuss patients and parents, talk about our personal lives and what's happening with the election (he's a staunch Obama supporter, too), and swap jokes back and forth all day. And as he's gotten more comfortable with me, he's given me more responsibility, such as asking the preliminary questions on the infants (breast- or bottle-fed, how many hours of sleep, etc.) and calling patients back with test results. Better yet, he knows I'm trying to go to PA school, so every once in a while, he calls me into an exam room, hands me his stethoscope, and says, "Listen to his chest. This is classic pneumonia." And if he's discussing a patient's condition with another doctor ("The parents were like, 'oh, he was in so much pain before', but really, I didn't think pyloric stenosis was a painful condition -- I thought those kids just puked a lot, right?"), I know I'm welcome to ask what pyloric stenosis is and have both doctors turn around, smile, and educate me. I'm submitting my PA school applications in 8 months, and Dr. H's letter of recommendation will weigh heavily towards getting me into the school I want to go to. It's really an ideal situation.

But.

I don't think he approves of homosexuality.

We have a number of gay and lesbian parents who come to our practice (the moms of those twin girls I wrote about a few months ago, for example), and he is always kind and polite as can be, treating them no differently than any other patients. And he's politically liberal, so that gives me hope. But he has made a number of comments that have put me a bit on edge. For instance, I heard him use the word 'dyke' in conversation one day. And a mother brought her son last month with the last name Millert, or Millette, or something with M-L-T. Dr. H sidled up to me afterwards and said, "Nice family. But I think Mom's last name may have been Mullet before, if you know what I mean." What could I do but laugh along with him?

Same thing a few days ago, when an older teenage boy came in for a physical. "He's a bit odd, but not in a bad way. Maybe fabulous. I don't know for sure whether he's fabulous or not, but you'll get the 'fabulous' vibe off him." (As it happened, I did -- he even walked in with a purse.) But does that comment qualify as offensive, or not? I couldn't decide.

Most people at work don't know about Aphrodite -- only one of the receptionists, two of the doctors (at our accessory office, not the main one where I work), and two or three other nurses. I don't know for sure how far word has spread. But I do know that I don't want to become another of Dr. H's jokes. Partly because I genuinely like him and want him to think well of me -- but partly because, if I'm going to be his regular nurse for the next two years, he's the one who has to write me that glowing recommendation letter. If he wrote it tomorrow, he wouldn't be able to say enough good things about me. But if he knew about Aphrodite, I'd always wonder what he was really thinking, and if that would have an effect on his opinion of me. It's a risk I'm not willing to take. But at the same time, I want to be able to discuss my life with him, the way he does with me -- because I feel like he could be a lifelong contact, even a friend. My Developmental Psychology textbook talks about how people in their twenties usually find older mentors who help them shape certain aspects of their lives, and I think that's what Dr. H is becoming for me. I want to 'come clean' to him, so I can talk with the same open frankness that he does. I think about it every day. But at the same time, I don't want to put my future in jeopardy.

Do I maintain the 'distance' I've got going right now and not say a word, ever? Do I wait until he's written my letter (May 1, 2009) and then casually mention 'my girlfriend'? Or do I just take my chances now, before too much time has gone by? I really don't know what the right move is.

Thoughts?

Ear Spiral

So one of our good friends, R, had her grandfather pass away last week. She's had something of an erratic family life, and was very close to him. An old navy man, he was adorned with numerous tattoos, including, on his left forearm, the traditional red heart with a banner across it. (Since he didn't have a steady girl at the time, he had his own name tattooed in the banner.) R sat by his bedside for two weeks staring at that tattoo -- and finally decided that, in memory of him, she would get the same tattoo and have it read 'Papa'. Aphrodite and I went along for the ride -- neither of us had ever seen a tattoo done -- and enjoyed ourselves immensely. R loved the final product.

However, one of the mysteries of a tattoo parlor is that, even if you're just accompanying a friend, it always seems to make you consider getting something done yourself. (Or, at least, it did me and Aphrodite.) We'd both toyed with the tattoo idea for years, but have yet to find anything that clicks and makes us go, "YES!" So we held out, but at one point, I wandered over to the opposite side of the store, where they did their piercings. "What would you pierce?" I asked Aphrodite and R. They mentioned various possibilities -- eyebrows, noses -- but there was nothing that felt quite right to me there, either.

Then, suddenly, I remembered something from my freshman year of college. A classmate had had an ear spiral (top image, NOT the bottom one), and I stared at it every day for the entire semester, marveling at how cool it was -- unique without being trashy. I hadn't thought about it in years, but standing there, I knew that was what I wanted.

I've got to wait a while -- from the research I've done on the internet, cartilage piercings take a long time to heal and can easily get infected, so I want to wait until I'm done training for the marathon in October and don't have sweaty hair falling over fresh piercings every day -- but if I still want it by the time the race is over, I think I'm going to do it.

Anybody out there have any piercings or tattoos? Any good stories associated with them? I'd love to hear them!

Ignorance, again

Last week, a woman came into the office for her four-year-old son's kindergarten physical. I enjoyed them -- the child was friendly and engaging, the mother firm but good-natured. We went through the standard stuff (weight, height, blood pressure, vision screen, hearing screen) at a rapid pace. As I told him about the headphones he was going to wear for the hearing test, I said, "They're really cool -- they make you look like a pilot!"

"Ohhh, we've got to tell Jen-Mom that you wore pilot headphones!" his mom enthused.

Jen-Mom. I smiled, administered the hearing test, and, later, came back to give the boy his shots -- which he handled quite well. On their way out the door, I said, "See you later, guys!"

"Oh, we'll be back soon," the mom assured me. "Our twins are due this week."
"Oh, how wonderful! Boys or girls -- or one of each?" I smiled.
"Two girls," she beamed.
"Are they going to see Dr. Smith too?"
"Yep -- we have an appointment for next Wednesday."
"Fantastic -- then I'll see you guys then!"

I smiled for the rest of the day.

Sure enough, the moms showed up together on Wednesday with a double-length stroller draped in pink. I put each infant through her paces -- naked weight, length, and head circumference -- and chatted with the women. I was really hoping to find a place to casually interject a remark about my girlfriend, to let them know we had a bond, but it never happened. Still, it was the best appointment of my day. Cuddling one of her daughters, the original mother, whose name I never knew, had lost all pretense of being stern or firm, the way she had been with her son. She cooed over both girls, and bubbled over with enthusiasm about their personalities, "She's either eating like a pig, or screaming because she wants to eat some more!" The other mother, Jen-Mom, was beautiful and, though tired (she had given birth to the twins), was visibly thrilled to hear the numbers and see how well her girls were doing. It was really touching to watch, and the atmosphere in the room was very warm and happy. I felt right at home with them, and wished I could have stayed in there all day.

I showed them their exam room and walked back to the nurse's station, still smiling to myself at having experienced such a loving family. As I headed for my chair, Kelly, a new nurse whom I don't care for, leaned over to me with a malicious grin and asked, far too loudly, "Are those turkey-baster babies?"

My cloud of happiness punctured, I stopped in my tracks. "Um, if you mean are there two mothers in the family, then yes." I was extremely offended -- not just on behalf of the family, but because of the ignorant attitude that such a question suggested, even if posed as a joke.

Kelly later apologized -- "I didn't mean to offend you, if I did. I mean, it's obvious that they're, well, you know, gay -- well, I don't mean gay, but -- whatever, it's obvious, and I was trying to be funny..." Watching her squirm almost made me feel better. But not quite. If it had been a man and a woman with adopted Chinese babies, for example, she wouldn't have asked if those were 'imports'. She wouldn't ask if traditionally conceived twins were 'penis babies'. Why is it any more okay to make fun of a lesbian couple? She doesn't know about me -- almost no one at work does -- so she's free to show her true colors, which are turning uglier by the day.

Those twins -- and their brother -- aren't going to grow up thinking that anything is wrong with the way they live. They'll be surrounded by love and support for their entire lives, which is more than a lot of children from 'traditional' families can say. Why should it matter how they were conceived, as long as they made it here? They are deeply loved by two exceptional women and a beautiful big brother. Honestly, I don't know what more anyone can ask for.

*All names have been changed, as usual.

Talent Versus Skill

One of our best friends, K, is an incredible actress and singer -- the kind that makes the hair stand up on your neck. She's had countless years of vocal and theater training, and has lived all over the country while performing in various shows. Although she's in law school now, she admits that she's doing it 80% for the money and because "I had to pick something." If she had the choice, she'd make her living through the theater. She is beautiful and hilarious, with enough personality and talent for three people. I've heard her sing on many occasions -- usually intentionally massacring a song for purposes of a laugh -- but had never seen her act. Aphrodite, who was good friends with K in high school, assured me that she was phenomenal, and we finally attended one of her plays this past Wednesday. I was blown away. K sang an operatic piece, which I'd never heard her do with any seriousness and which totally impressed me. She also distinguished herself from the other actors by continuing to 'act' even when the spotlight was elsewhere -- changing her facial expressions, gesturing, making her presence known however she could. Whenever she was with a partner in one of those quiet moments, such as dancing in the background while another character was speaking, she took the lead, constantly changing things up and keeping her partner from becoming monotonous. At one point, she and her dancing partner were supposed to be drunk, and although the actor speaking was being very serious, the entire audience was looking at K (who was dancing outlandishly, taking her partner's tie in her teeth, etc.) and cracking up.

At the end, when she came out and took her bow, she spotted us in the audience, grinned from ear to ear, and gave us a tiny wave. Everyone sitting around us noticed and started asking questions -- "Do you know her?" "Is she a friend of yours?" "She was incredible!" We were so proud of her.

After meeting K, giving her the flowers we'd brought, and sitting and talking for a while, Aphrodite and I had a long conversation on the way home about talent versus skill. We decided that a skill is something you can learn to do, even learn to do extremely well -- but that a talent is something you're born with. While you might need to hone it, or work on it to develop associated skills, one cannot 'acquire' a talent. Most of the other actors on that stage were extraordinarily skilled. K has talent -- in spades.

Rarely have I ever been so proud of (or so starstruck by) a friend -- but at the same time, it awakens a sense of desperation in me. K is so talented and so deserving, and yet the chances of her ever 'making it' in that business are slim. Reality is that she'll probably end up wearing power suits to a courthouse every day, hating her job, and acting in a couple of tiny community theater plays every year to give herself a little taste of joy. She's so much better than that, and yet there is nothing I can do to help give her what I know she deserves. Watching her was a bittersweet feeling -- if she weren't so damn good, I wouldn't feel so desperate to see her succeed.

Anybody out there with theater connections? ;)