And then there was one.

I'm ditching the 30 Days Meme. I completed two out of 30 entries, and I've rapidly found that that particular list of prompts just isn't doing anything for me. Scrapped. Gonna try my hand at going back to writing my own free-form narrative, even if I have to write about shit I don't wanna write about. I've been ambivalating enough for the last year-plus. I need to get back to the Breeness of it all.

Two things you probably know if you know me In Real Life, but don't yet know if you only know me via Toothpick Labeling or Limburger, my previous personal blog:

1. I got bit really badly by a dog in September, and now I've got a killer motherfucking scar on my left hand. By the grace of randomness, luck, and privilege, I've got most functionality back, and a family who can help me cover the medical bills.

<--How it looked two days after the bite.
How it looks now.-->

So, there was that.

2. Astrid and I broke up about a month ago. You, the reader, met Astrid nearly seven years ago, when I wrote about our first date. Since then, those tentative and doubtful and sexy beginnings became the longest relationship for either of us, the longest shack up, the deepest intimacy, and ultimately the most slow-motion, excruciating breakup in my life. The last year and a half have been fucking painful. Now that we've broken up, we both feel a lot of relief, release, and freedom to find ourselves in different ways. It's actually been, on the whole, easier between us since we made the decision to end it.

And here's the interesting part: we still live together. Tune in next time for more!

Day 01 - Introduce Yourself

Hi. I'm Bree. Only, I'm not actually Bree; Bree is a pseudonym I've been using since I started blogging about eight years ago. Actually, it's a pseudonym I created around 2000ish when I had a brief and fairly dull foray into cyber chatting in those lonely little virtual chat rooms when people were still on IRC channels or some such shit that I didn't understand then and don't understand now. So I've gone by Bree in some circles for 'bout a decade, plus/minus.

I grew up in San Jose and Los Gatos, California, suburban sprawl about fifty miles south of San Francisco. Most of you reading this blog probably already know that. Maybe I should introduce myself in a more enticing way. Let's see now...well, I'm pushing 40, I'm a big ol' dyke (who makes infrequent exceptions for an occasional boy as long as he's fey, geeky, and submissive enough), I took the Meyers-Briggs personality type test when I was 17 at Jewish youth group camp, and was revealed to be an ENFP, and I think it's still pretty accurate.

What else? I wear two career hats, well, really one job hat and one career hat: my money-earning work is bookkeeping, basically paying other peoples' bills and balancing their checkbooks (something I've pretty much never managed to do for myself) and my career path work, which hasn't quite made me money yet, is as a psychotherapist. I'm an intern working in private practice in Berkeley, and I mainly work with queer and trans folks, and individuals and relationship partners who are in polyamorous relationships or who are identified with alternative sexualities in some form.

I think a lot about death and grief and loss.

I really enjoy the minutia of consciousness and perception and exploring the endless mental and emotional crevices of experience and memory and fantasy and nostalgia and here-and-nowness.

I enjoy documenting things. One day a year, I try to document every single thing I do from waking until slumber on my Facebook page. Hundreds of Facebook friends seem to be fascinated by this myopic, indulgent navel-gazing exercise, or at least are polite enough to make comments every now and then. For seven years running, I blogged about every movie I viewed, every book I read, and every noteworthy experience I had in a series of annual year-end wraps. You can read the last one right here.

I have several friends in the world who I cherish and who I feel deeply emotionally tied to. I really adore my family. My nieces and nephews are some of the smartest, kindest people I know. I live with my girlfriend Astrid and our dog Dorrie, a pit bull-border collie mutt, who I'm totally in love with. Astrid and I have had a really tough year together, and I've scarcely blogged about it. Maybe I'll share more of this process later. Maybe I won't.

My mom died about a year ago, of lung cancer. She was 73. My dad died 37 years ago of a heart attack, when he was just 43. I'm an orphan, I guess. I miss my mom, and I also feel just a shred of a bit more freedom to move about the world as myself since she's been gone. I feel lighter, but also somewhat guilty about this. I can't imagine my life without my sisters.

I'm slutty. Usually more in my imagination than in actuality, but I do get around some. I really enjoy riding my bicycle. I eat a lot of meat. I listen to quirky emotional indie rock. I like excruciatingly cheesy pop culture. I can talk a blue streak, and I often get bored of the stories I tell over and over, but also I often remain freshly amused by myself.

That's some of me.

Almost 2011, and a Rap on the Wrap

First of all, I'm still pronouncing "2010" as "Two Thousand Ten," and I think I'll likely pronounce "2011" as "Two Thousand Eleven." What about y'all? For some reason, "Twenty-Ten" and "Twenty-Eleven" sound like marketing copy to me, yet I know it's inconsistent, 'cause I certainly didn't refer to "1999" as "One Thousand Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine or even the slightly less cumbersome "Nineteen Hundred Ninety-Nine." For a helpful look at this issue which is essentially a digression from my main drift today, please listen to Grammar Girl's podcast on the topic. Seems I'm out of the norm on this one, which isn't surprising in the least.

Speaking of norms, it is around this time of year here at Toothpick Labeling that we are all frothing at the mouth, chomping at the bit, ready to jump guns, cross lines in sand, and loads of other appropriate (or not) overused metaphors in hot anticipation of my annual Year-end Wrap. For those of you not in the know, every year for the last seven of 'em, I've written up a summary of how my year has gone, including a fairly detailed collection of reviews of all the culture I've imbibed, films I've seen, books I've read, shows I've attended, yadda yadda. Every year since 2003. Except, I'm afraid to report, for the year 2010.*

Why have I skimped on preparing a Wrap this time? Well, I'll tell ya. In the first half of the year, I had actually planned to continue my tradition of yearly review by setting up a Word document as I normally do with the general categories of the entry all lined up (personal stuff that's happened, books, TV shows, films I've seen in the theater, films I've watched on DVD/online, live shows, music I've acquired, and resolutions for the year). I began filling in those categories as I ticked off events, milestones, and cultural consumption during the first few months of the year. I also set out a new and ambitious plan to begin reviewing stuff in the blog more or less as I finish a book or after I've seen a movie so that my work on the Wrap would be a lot less daunting at the end of the year. I was really happy with that commitment I'd set out for myself.

A collage of images from Wraps-Past. Clockwise from top left: Dorrie the Dog; Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler; some of our friends from Buffy the Vampire Slayer; an ostrich in the Santa Inez Valley; The L-Word dykes; the Van Tussles vs. the Turnblads in John Waters's Hairspray; Gandhi; laughable lotus climax from The Fountain; King Crimson's album In the Court of the Crimson King: an Observation by King Crimson; the cast of Nine to Five.

But then in April, Mom got diagnosed with cancer, and by May she was dead. And, although it seems trivial in comparison, just a few days after Mom died, my apartment got broken into and my laptop was stolen, and along with it, the not-backed-up document containing all my 2010 Wrap info. Added to that, there's been a lot of relationship wrangling and the constant stress of being underemployed and trying to build my therapy practice.

It's hard for me to break with traditions, especially with expectations I set out for myself, but it became clear at length that I would have to ditch the Wrap this time. I've had bigger fish to fry emotionally and energetically this year. I'm sure my readers can understand this breech of protocol, and, to tell you the truth, letting myself off the hook from the exacting task of tracking every freakin' thing I do all year has been liberating in the extreme.

I can't promise I'll get back to doing a Wrap for 2011, but it's possible. It's also possible I'll be focusing my energies on ever-newer, more up-to-the-moment relevant projects that hopefully will feed my soul in different ways. If you're nostalgic for my Wraps of yore, you can check 'em out by clicking any of these handy hyperlinks: 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003

Here's wishing you and yours a happy Thanksgiving, a warm and wonderful holiday season, a fantastic New Year, and the hope that all our energies will continue to be focused on what's important, inspiring, loving, and fruitful. I am, and I trust that we all are, exactly where we need to be.

Peace 'n' love,
Bree


*The author understands if you read that as "Twenty-Ten" and won't like you any less for it.

In pencil, on a paper placemat

This was a list I wrote myself around July of this year. I'm not feeling as unstable as I was then, but it's a meaningful period piece.

Reasons to be kind to myself:

I'm in mourning.
I feel lost and abandoned.
I'm hungry and haven't had time to take care of myself today.
I'm worthy of love.
Astrid loves me.
I'm a good person.
This is temporary.
I'm okay.
I have a family and friends who love me.
I deserve kindness.
I am learning how to be a good therapist, and it's okay not to be perfect.

Wishes, Goals, Bookshelves

Astrid and I are navigating a lot of complexity together. We're doing well, moving through it, communicating our feelings and our needs to each other, and above all, trying to balance the here-and-now with the yet unknown future, or trying to manifest in the here-and-now the kinds of futures we desire for ourselves as individuals and for our lives together. To that end, beyond the verbal processing, the treating each other with extra attention and kindness, the connecting and reconnecting through talk and touch, we are engaged in a goal-setting exercise which we've been refining over the last week or so. We outlined our life values as individuals, listed our wishes. What does each of us want to manifest in our lives, the materialistic and the altruistic, the personal and the professional, the creative and the logistical? Today, we organized our wishes into goals, identified the areas of our lives the goals fit into, and assigned a timeline to each. Mine run the gamut from the microscopic-mundane:

Clear out the bookshelf in the dining room (personal goal). Timeline: immediate

to the long-ranging and grandiose:

Write and publish a nonfiction book (career goal). Timeline: 5 to 10 years.

I'm pleased to say I've already knocked out the bookshelf. It was a catch-all that caught everything from random shoelaces to no less than three bike U-lock mounts (never used) to a baseball mitt (last touched nearly three years ago) to my grad school readers and binders that had been collecting dust since graduation in 2008 to outdated telephone directories (why do they still make those things?) Now it's cleared out, dusted, virtually empty, waiting to be filled with objects that are more relevant to our lives now, useful and in use, a dynamic space rather than a dead one.

'Cause that's the point, really, to occupy the space of our lives with vitality and movement, rather than stagnancy, dust, the dead-end of inattention and the taking for granted that we just move from day to day without sight of our dreams, what we really want from this life: bookshelves of our own and bookshelves to share.

Both/(And)

The undulations of my moods lately aren't severe, just ripples riding sometimes higher in anxiety and sometimes lower in listlesness. There are some good days too, to be sure.

Lots of the money stress, still. Still. Some relationship ennui has come and gone, the way it does with long standing love. Dr. Mario has been brought out of its 1 1/2 year slumber in order to nurse Astrid and I through our collective anxiety about not accomplishing real things. My private practice is finally turning a "profit" if that's what you call around $400 per month. This is truly a good, good thing. But with just one tiny bookkeeping gig in addition to the therapy work, I'm still making just enough to pay rent and that's absolutely it. I've blogged enough about all this before, so I should get on to other things. Like that I'm hungry, and I should probably eat some lunch.

xo
Bree

Inappropriate Therapy Dream

Dreamt that I was in a therapy session, which was also a performance review, with my client and my supervisor. My client was my ex-girlfriend N. She reported to us that the therapy had been enjoyable and productive so far, to her surprise. Relieved at this news, I then proceeded to tell my client/ex that it was time for us to start talking about termination, since it's clear that I should no longer be her therapist. I was nervous about "breaking up" with her in this way, and she was a little upset, but nothing unmanageable.

After she left the office, my supervisor and I chatted lightly and she revealed that she had previously done therapy with N.'s current partner. She then showed me cards she'd received for her birthday, a card from my friend Mag with pressed, dried sunflowers in it, and a card from my friend B. with pressed, dried tulips in it. As many of you no doubt are aware, Mag and B. themselves are a long-ago broken up ex-couple. And, as you can imagine, neither of them know my supervisor in "real life."

Venture some interpretations, dear readers?

Blue, Part Two

Today's been difficult, a confluence of sadness and irritation, plummeting self-confidence and escalating fear. I've felt insecure with Astrid, who for her part has been cranky with me since yesterday, ornery 'cause she feels like she has no space and time for herself, especially since her summer work schedule has been so hellish. I've in turn been pouty and needy and self-involved to the nth. We had planned to go to a queer tango event, and at the last minute I said I felt ambivalent about going. And I was ambivalent, am almost always ambivalent about going dancing, because it touches so many tender spots for me: it makes me feel clumsy, self-conscious of my body and doubtful of my capacity to learn new things, to be open to change, to be open to what Astrid needs. I want to be able to shut off my symbolic thinking, focus on the moment, the dancing, the feeling of being in Astrid's arms as she leads me on the floor, but every misstep, every blunder feels like failure, feels like I'm not good enough, I'll never be good enough.

And then I get even more angry at myself and withdrawn, because I've heard this all before. This internal monologue of punishment is so fucking old and tired and old and old and old. And then I remember that this is exactly what I'm not supposed to do, what I tell my therapy clients all the time: feel your feelings of sadness, of fear, but don't pile self-hatred on top of it. Be kind to yourself. Feeling fear, feeling grief, is okay. It's not going to disintegrate you. Neediness is not going to drive your lover away. Be gentle to yourself. Be curious about your feelings. Breathe.

Too many good byes of late, and too much imminent uncertainty. P.'s death just two weeks ago, still reeling internally from ending my two years at the clinic, saying good-bye to my supervisor and to my colleagues. And I'm mourning my changing relationship with Minoba, and missing her. It's all weighing heavily. And then there's this craziness of starting my own therapy practice. Who the fuck is gonna pay me $90 to listen to them for fifty minutes, for christ's sake?

I did end up tangoing today. I'm glad I did, though it wasn't free from the above anxiety and sadness. I had fun; I always enjoy it more than I think I will going into it. And Astrid was glad I came, I guess. She said so, anyway, and she's good on her word. Just wish I believed it today.

Red to Green, Part Four (of Four)

…in which Bree's sex life gets much more sane and we wrap this thing up.

Click here for the legend. Apologies for the small size of some of these charts (having trouble with Photoshop) – please click on a chart for a larger version.

Jump back to Part Three

2005-2006. Drama factor: 2 (mostly the fun kind!) Astrid and I met in '05 and became casual but intentional lovers. Both of us continued and began sexual connections with other partners during this first year we were dating. Astrid was involved with Kiley, Jesse, and Bren when I met her, and I had a few casual hook-ups with my friend Rita and with a random woman I met on Craigslist. I imagined Astrid to be sleeping with, like, "everyone," and I'm not sure why I harbored this fantasy. Probably 'cause I found her to be so unbefuckinglievably desirable, and couldn't figure out what she was doing with lil old me in these first few months. I was pretty fresh off of my break up with N., and feeling shaky about what I had to offer, as well as emotionally raw. But as I healed and got some equilibrium, and as Astrid and I grew more intimate, I felt much more confidence and really hit a stride with my polyosity. Astrid dated Cian in the fall, and Dax and I met around that same time and fell into a yummy, loving dating relationship. Though this was hard to navigate at times, I felt really good about being able to express my feelings with each of them and I was even able to balance my time in a sane way (read: this was before I started grad school!) So, for several months, I was dating both Dax and Astrid, as A and I gradually became more committed to each other, in as open and unconventional a way as we could. Eventually, Dax fell in love with her new partners, Boi & Boy, and she decided to become polyfidelitous with them. High point: Sexual freedom, developing intimacy with both Astrid and Dax, and authentic and honest sexual connections with shorter-term partners. Low point: Figuring out how to facilitate as safe a space as possible for both Astrid and Dax to be in my life in their different roles. I can't say that I handled this as elegantly as I should have, but this was nowhere near the totally unethical ways I handled nonmonogamy in past relationships (See the Bianca Bramble, ten years previous.)

Drama factor: 1. In '06 and '07, things calmed down as Astrid and I navigated changes in our relationship. In '06 we became girlfriends and I started grad school, and we began living together in '07. I smooched a couple women (a make-out at the Lex and subsequent awkward date; a kiss with my coworker Shareen on the eve of her return to living in the Midwest.) So, nothing too involved. I'm not 100% sure, but I don't think Astrid had any action going on during this period either. My crushes on various people flourished during this time (some of you know who you are). High point: Being with Astrid just fucking rocks. Low point: Not really a "low" point, but it can be difficult to negotiate my desire for being with multiple people even if I'm not actively involved with anyone other than my partner. Sometimes I'm perfectly content, sometimes I feel angsty, and there are a whole range of other associated feelings at any given time. Mostly, I was just really happy in my primary relationship and very busy with school.

2007-2008. Drama factor: 3. No other involvements for either of us throughout 2007, and then toward the end of '08, Astrid and I had a visit from an old lover of hers, Elle, which provided a really complex and beautiful experience for us to navigate together. Then not long after that, I hung out with a friend of mine on whom I've had the hots for a long while, the beautiful and bawdy Calista. We had a few drinks at various local haunts, and then, once she figured out I was attempting to make a pass (I'm really not subtle, and neither is she, thankfully) she reeled me in for a lusty little kiss on the corner of 24th and Mission. She put the kabosh on anything more happening, due to her own relationship concerns, but I will go on record as saying "Mee-ow!" Both because of the specific interaction with Calista, and the more general state of my polyness and not having had another involvement outside Astrid and I in a couple years, it felt really vibrant and alive to be able to play with that sort of energy with another person again. It was fun stuff. More please! Anyone? Bueller?

Fin

Jump to back Part Three or Start at the beginning with Part One.

Red to Green, Part Three (of Four)

…in which Bree's sex life gets even dodgier.

Click here for the legend, which will open in a new window.

Jump back to Part Two

1995-'96. Drama factor: 10! Notes: Oh, lord, where to begin? Well, you've read the overview of the situation already. I'll describe the players and the context in a semi-systematic way:

Center branch: Bianca was my lover for about 1 ½ - 2 years. Bianca was living with her partner Bella for about 4 years at the time we met. The three of us negotiated my involvement with Bianca, so the connection between us is green. Over time, however, as Bianca and I got more emotionally involved, Bella's consent eroded, yet the relationship persisted. I'm not proud of this, and I gather Bianca isn't either.

The early period, counter-clockwise from top: Elsie and I had a sweet fling in the spring/summer of '95, til she went off to be a garden monk at a nearby zen center. Bianca was apprised of this, whether she liked it or not. I also had the opportunity to sleep with Lola and Iris again at various times during my involvement with Bianca, and these were legit and openly discussed. Note that Lola and Iris, having met through me, were dating at one point previous to this period, which I found revolting.

Throughout my time with Bianca, she continued to burn a torch for her erstwhile lover, C., who she had rare opportunities to be with during our run. This was a major source of tension between Bianca and Bella, but I was so very enthralled with Bianca's flair for drama and always keen to hear stories about her Great Love C. Meanwhile, Bella had a lover for a spell, Edward, whose presence kind of relaxed the stress between Bella and me and provided a bit of freedom for Bianca and I to spend some time together during the mid-point of our affair.

Later on in the relationship, as Bianca and I became more emotionally enmeshed and Bella became less okay with our affair, my other involvements went underground. I was fucking our mutual friend Pookie, who also worked at the Org, and that was a direct affront to Bianca; in fact, very unfairly to Pookie, I consciously used her as a wedge to put some distance between me and Bianca. Meanwhile, Pookie had also fucked both my exes, Lola and Iris. We were all such class acts, right? I also slept with a sweetly nerdy boy, Jarek, made out with a new friend Kate, and then had a couple-week fling with yet another co-worker, Irene. Of those involvements, I managed to come clean about the boy, but I outright lied to Bianca about Irene, which put the final nail in the coffin. During this late period, Bella had a clandestine affair with her friend Hank as well, so Bianca was getting grief on all sides. Not that she was the innocent in the situation; after all, she had continued her affair with me long after Bella had clearly stated it was no longer okay. High point: Bianca and I had the most indescribably hot sexual rapport. Low point: it should just never get this low.

1997-'98. Drama factor: 2. Notes: When Bianca and I were finally done with all that, and Iris moved back to Santa Cruz from points East and North, we made another go at being girlfriends, this time for about two years. We always maintained an open agreement, but neither of us really put it into practice – I think we were both sufficiently worn down from all the previous turmoil. We once took my friend Kate (see the Bianca Bramble) to bed with us, which was fun and low-key. I always nursed a handful of crushes, but nothing materialized. Then, toward the end of our relationship, after it was clear things weren't going to work out long-term for us, Iris became involved with Shannon, a local dyke-about-town. We broke up within a month or so. High point: my first really adult relationship, and sharing our lives together. Low point: we were both pretty bored.

* * *

I then entered a beautiful (and rare, for me) period of being single. No chart here, but honorable mentions to Callie, Kate (again) and the random playmates who passed through my life in the fair annum of 1999, the year I finally quit the Peace Org, road tripped across the country, and landed the very unstressful jobs of making sandwiches and scrubbing down hot tubs.

* * *

2000-2004. Drama factor: 3. Notes: As you can see, structurally, my relationship with Nat was almost a mirror image of my relationship with Iris, as far as nonmonogamy goes, even down to the three-way, this time with a random Craigslist hookup. I was adamant that I wanted to make nonmonogamy happen this time in a mature way, but I was still restrained. Natasha had had a very bad pseudo-polyamorous bramble of her own with her ex-husband, just previous to our relationship. Internally, I had my own unresolved emotional issues and guilt, and fears about hurting Nat in the shadow of her situation with her ex. So I stalled on it for a long five years. My most persistent crush at the time, Rita, became fuel for some low-level drama between Nat and I, but really nonmonogamy was one of the big elephants in the room for the entire course of our relationship. High point: hands-down the most mature relationship I'd been in to that point. Low point: we were both repressing what we really needed.

One more installment, kids…

Jump back to Part Two
Jump forward to Part Four

Red to Green, Part Two (of Four)

…in which Bree's follies continue.

Click here for the legend, which will open in a new window.

Jump back to Part One

1992. Drama factor: 4. Notes: After many months of sexual tension, Casey and I finally started dating. In the interim, I was still burning a candle for Iris, and had hooked up with Ube's UCLA housemate at some Jewish student retreat. I had the opportunity to see her again after Casey and I had gone GF. I was straightforward with Casey, but she wasn't happy about it. After I moved to Santa Cruz that fall, Casey and I both became involved with other people, she with a guy friend of hers and me with Lola, who would become my first really long-term partner. We discussed both our other involvements with much maturity, and at that point, even though I was open to our relationship continuing, Casey read this moment as our break up. At least, that's how I think it went (Casey – any feedback from your side of the table?) High point: those magical, unforgettable hugs. Low point: showing up to meet Casey with a fresh Lola hickey on my neck. At my eldest nephew's bar mitzvah. Real classy, Bree.

1992-1994. Drama factor: 7. Notes: Lola and I were together for two years, and during that time, I was always clear about wanting to be open. She was willing to negotiate, but it wasn't ever something she was into, and so I remained nonmonogamous mostly in my fantasies. I still had the Energy with Iris, and became really smitten with my friend A. who lived in Tucson and wrote the most intellectually juicy letters, but I didn't discuss these emotional involvements with Lola. Somehow I was able to talk openly with her about my crush on my friend G., maybe because my feelings for men have always been less serious and therefore seemingly less threatening to my primary relationships. G. and I had made out at a party early on in my relationship with Lola, before we were calling ourselves girlfriends, and I didn't reveal that. I ended up smooching a casual friend, and Lola wasn't thrilled, but we discussed it at least. Then toward the end of our relationship, Lola and I both kissed our mutual friend Spider unbeknownst to each other! I think I may not have known that Spider and Lola kissed until years later. So somehow the nonmonogamy was not working properly in that relationship, even though I was constantly preoccupied with it. High point: a lot of great communication, despite my intermittent tendencies toward repression. Low point: oh, that breakup really stung. It was awful for us both.

1994-early '95. Drama factor: 4. Notes: Dani and I dated but were never SO's, which I think accounts for some of why the nonmonogamy went smoother than many relationships before and after. We were also both oriented toward being open, and this was a first time for me, dating someone else as slutty as I was. The drama wasn't about the negotiations re: nonmonogamy, but about my push-pull with intimacy. Fresh from the breakup with Lola and wanting to be a free agent (not to mention I was kind of insane at this time in my life) I wasn't willing to be very present with Dani, even though I cared about her a lot. I had a passionate evening with A. (the letter-writer from Tucson), and got to fuck Iris again for the first time in years, and had a one-night fling with Kym, a friend from school. All were talked about freely with Dani (and with my other lovers). When I started to become involved with Bianca, Dani knew it was the death knell for us, and the drama spiked. High point: most above-board nonmonogamy yet. Low point: hurting Dani and the resulting awkwardness at work. Yes, we were co-workers. Can't say it was the last time for that nonsense…

Jump to back to Part One
Jump forward to Part Three
Jump forward to Part Four

Red Turns to Green, Eventually (or) The Map of Bree's Kooky Sex Life, Part One (of Four)

Recently, two events in the Facebook universe have inspired me to do some navel-gazing (even more than the usual level, if it can be imagined) about my relationship to relationshipping. The first was the unexpected communication from Bianca, which you read about in a recent entry. The second was the mistake (or maybe it was a fruitful misstep) of accepting my aunt Rhoda's friend invitation, knowing she was going to make some sort of intrusive comment about my open relationship status on my profile. As predicted, the very first message I get from her on Facebook (thank god she didn't post it on my wall!) is simply:

Title of message: "O.R., hmmm..."
Body of message: "Dangerous territory."

When I responded with a quip that being in an open relationship is better than relationship stagnation, she didn't register the joke (pointing not so subtlety in her direction) and proceeded to claim vast knowledge on this issue from "personal experience" and to grill me about whether Astrid and I are in therapy.

Now, I know that Rhoda is just concerned about me, and granted, she's doing it in a hip, been-there-done-that kinda bohemian artiste way, and not in a prunesy old spinster aunt haven't-had-nothin'-near-my-twat-since-the-Ford-administration way, but the message couldn't be clearer: you don't know what you're doing, and this is wrong.

* * *

This frustrating exchange with Rhoda paired with the more positive (but still quite emotionally provoking) communication I had with Bianca conjured up a lot of rumination for me about my relationship history, and just how far back polyamory goes in my life. While it may be new information to Aunt Rhoda, I've been in some form of nonmonogamous situation in all my significant relationships since the first time I kissed Scarlett back in 1991, when I was all of 19 years old. Of course, I cannot boast the cleanest, most conscientious record devoid of any moral ambiguity or outright impropriety for these last eighteen years; nevertheless, on contemplating this history—and geekily applying it to eleven color-coded charts—I realize that the improprieties began to melt away with the years of experience. I don't have it all figured out by any means, but I (now, at least) know how to be honest with my partners and my lovers, and honor my own desire for more loving connections (or just playfully sexy ones) in my life.

So, over the course of several entries, I'll be guiding you through the sometimes naïve, often messy, and always amusing history of my poly love life, as seen in two-dimensional line-drawn splendor!





* * *


1991. Top row: Me, Scarlett, her husband Norbert; bottom row: Scarlett's other lover D., and his girlfriend R. Drama factor (scale of 1 to 10) 6.5. Notes: As far as I knew, Norbert was vaguely aware that Scarlett had other lovers, but it wasn't go-go-go polyamory. Meanwhile, D., Scarlett's other lover, happened to be my boss at the hippy-dippy café where I worked, and his short-term girlfriend during this hot mess was Scarlett's lifelong best friend. High point: Scarlett literally made my knees weak. Low point: bless her, but she was such a tease.

1992. Top row: Me, Iris; bottom row: a one-night stand crush of mine named Ria, and the multitude of her minions. Drama factor: 2. Notes: Iris and I were each other's first official girlfriends, and this first incarnation of our romantic relationship lasted all of two months. While Iris was away for the holidays, I slept with Ria, who was Mrs. C's housemate. I had somehow thought this was okay with Iris, on account of having discussed nonmonogamy with her, but years later, I found out talking about the issue abstractly did not constitute consent in her eyes. Go figure! Thankfully, our relationship as friends survived the indiscretion. High point: Ria was just plain hot. Low point: This might be the only time I've really "cheated" on someone.

Jump to Part Two
Jump to Part Three
Jump to Part Four

Opening Up*

L's visit from Germany is now a few weeks passed, and both Astrid and I are in a good place about all, but it was somewhat of an emotional blender while she was here. The blender contained the following: major portions of sexiness, excitement, love, and wonderful communication, one part confusion, a generous dose of longing and disappointment, dash(ed) expectations, and a pinch of loneliness. And I'm not just describing my feelings being in the spectator role of Astrid's renewed connection with L., but the collective feelings of Astrid and I as they mingled together in the rich concoction we created together with her.

It had been a long time since Astrid or I had had other lovers. My last significant involvement was with Dax, which ended about 2½ years ago when she entered into a more or less polyfidelitous relationship with a couple, and then wound up in a monogamous relationship later on with her current sweetie. I had had a make-out and one awkward date sometime after that, but nothing noteworthy. I think it had been about three years since Astrid was with another lover. And since then, we have developed and deepened our relationship, and we have been discussing our feelings and dreams about polyamory and nonmonogamy quite consistently, the identity and style of loving being at the core for both of us. "Opening up" as a theme is very apt: the opening up of possibilities between Astrid and I; the opening of our hearts to new loves; the opening of our bodies to a new vibrancy and new experiences of pleasure; the opening of our spirits to loving each other in an even more intimate and honest way.

The week didn't progress in the way either Astrid or I had hoped it would, based on the excitement of Astrid's interaction with L. the first couple days. When L. arrived in town, she and Astrid got to reestablishing their rapport and becoming lovers again very quickly. The energy between them was high on the night of Astrid's poetry reading, and after we all got home, they stayed together on the couch while I went to sleep in my bed. When I woke up at about five a.m. to pee, I heard wonderful moans coming from the living room and felt this amazing mixture of vicarious arousal and joy for Astrid, as well as a subtle anxiety that I knew I wouldn't be able to process in such a sleepy and excitable state. When Astrid joined me back in bed not long after that, it felt warm and sexy and connected between us as we snuggled and talked a little about everything that was happening. I was thrilled for her, and so turned on, and felt very grounded about giving them space to be together. And then the next day, L. and I had dinner and talked for a long time about the situation, and I made it very clear to her that everything was cool with me, and that she should feel free to be affectionate with Astrid around me and essentially entitled to take up more space (in fact, in the interest of full disclosure, I told L. it'd be my pleasure if she were affectionate with Astrid in my presence. I got a chuckle out of her on that one--I'm an unrepentant voyeur, it's true.) She said the situation was very unusual for her, and she felt a lot of discomfort with it, having no exposure to open relationships, but said she was really impressed with how Astrid and I were handling it, and that she was learning from it. I assured her we were learning too.

But then, sadly, for the rest of the week, L. was distant from Astrid, and I found myself there in Astrid's disappointment, feeling it with her, and feeling the years of my own start-and-stop polyamorous leanings being dashed. It is not wise to put all eggs in a basket, as the cliché goes, and so wisdom knows that L. was no wicker for our whims. When Astrid came to bed the next night, curling into herself and feeling rejected by L., I felt disconnected from her and alone, knowing it wasn't me she wanted that night. We slept lightly and proceeded awkwardly through the next day, and then Astrid and I took a walk together up to Dolores Park late in the evening, and had a radically honest talk about everything we were both feeling. How glorious it was to share my intimate joy and pleasure and sadness and fear with her, and to be fully open to hearing Astrid's specific pleasures and pangs, even as they were about another woman.

But radical honesty is more multifaceted than glorious: it's tiring. It's exposing. It's relentless, and once you start, you can never stop, because anything less feels inauthentic and flat. This is the precious and frightening underside of opening up.

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*This entry is named after the new book of the same title on nonmonogamous relationships by Tristan Taormino, out now on Cleis Press.